


Back to You

by wavesketcher



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, One Shot, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2020-10-06 10:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 35,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20505482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wavesketcher/pseuds/wavesketcher
Summary: A series of Bamon one-shots including, but not limited to: fake dating, unrequited love, humanity switches, funerals, angst (lots), comedy (I try), canon, definitely not canon, and a five year old girl who changes Damon's life.





	1. Almost

**A/N: It’s no surprise now that I like starting new Bamon stories and figured compiling one-shots in one place would be a good idea. Thanks to _Bloodshots_ by Farie Insignias for the idea. Requests are greatly encouraged! **

**_Note for this One-Shot:_ Pre-warning. This is _very_ angsty (apologies) - only this time, it’s Damon on the brunt end. Giving our girl Bonnie a break lol.**

i. Almost

It’s fun having a best friend, it really is; the inside jokes, the loyalty, dependence, meme culture, etc, etc, but falling in _love_ with said best friend… that’s just a shit storm.

For starters, Bonnie is touchy. He hadn’t noticed it before, when he wasn’t, you know, _in love with her_, but now he’s freshly cognisant and _dying inside_ – he’s noticed. Boy, he’s noticed. Whether it be the sudden clutch of his wrist when she’s excited or the nonchalant brush of Bennett fingers on his back, she’s everywhere and it’s rudely intoxicating.

What’s worse, in the past few days, he’s been promoted from best friend to Gay Best Friend and is frequently called on for fashion advice. The old Damon would have brazenly enjoyed having a pretty woman twirl around in a criminally skin-tight dress but now it’s like having the thing you want most in the world - but can’t have - paraded in front of you.

Not _like_, Damon corrects, _is_. It _is_ the thing he wants most in the world only this time, he’s too _moral _to just fuck the consequences and _have it_.

He’s played out the conversation a thousand times:

“Bon, it’s stupid but I’m in love with you. Do you want to maybe make out or just continue this episode of Gossip Girl?”

To which Bonnie will, first, assume he means a family love and scrunch her nose up and make her eyes all wide and Disney and probably _snuggle_ into his chest, her head like a damned dagger to his dead, unbeating heart. When he explains that, tragically, he means _love_ love, she’ll go very still and say, “What about Elena?” like he isn’t aware that loving Bonnie Bennett makes for a tricky conversation with his comatose girlfriend. He’ll probably make a joke like, “Lucky for me, you won’t be around at the same time” and it will land flat and heavy on the couch because a world without Bonnie Bennett isn’t his.

“Damon, I-”

That’s what she’ll say. A broken line, the words unformed because how can she tell him without breaking his heart? How can you say ‘I’m not’ in a language that doesn’t devastate?

You can’t. So, he’ll save both of them the pain and keep this…_complication_ to himself.

* * *

“Have you thought about what Elena said?”

Damon stalls on his mouthful. “Huh?”

Bonnie’s face twists with disgust. “Okay, _gross_, a bit of turkey just fell out.”

“You love it,” he responds instinctually, but drags the napkin across his mouth anyway, a little embarrassed. “Elena said many things, Bon-bon. Specificity, please.”

The witch loosens her arms off the picnic bench. “About you, you know,” she gesticulates aimlessly, looking like a flailing bird (and he smiles before his brain reprimands that finding Bonnie Bennett cute is not beneficial to anyone), “dating again.”

His mouth re-aligns. “_What_?”

“It’s just, we have a good sixty years or so before I disappear from this earth,” she winks and he cringes, inwardly, and probably outwardly, at the thought, “that’s a long old time for seducer extraordinaire _Damon Salvatore_ to wait.”

She fills his silence with something more tentative, “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with waiting. It’s,” Bonnie glances down at her hands, “pretty romantic, I think.”

His best friend has acquired a kind of dreamy, dimpled look and it’s a testament to how fucked he is that this is all he can focus on – _now_, when she’s wondering if he’ll consider dating someone other than the supposed love of his damned life.

_Why does everything have to be so confusing?_

“I don’t know, I guess I haven’t really thought about it,” he manages, lamely.

Bonnie’s brow quirks, “Seriously? For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been Mr Babe-magnet-”

“- Don’t ever say that again.”

“- _Fine_. Flirt, charmer, whatever you want to call it. Has _no-one_ taken your fancy?”

And right on cue, there’s the drum of a phantom heart only the witch has managed to arouse, from the depths of his darkness, screwed-upness, _monstrosity_: the human.

His vision is assaulted by a darting hand. “Hello?” Bonnie trills, “Earth to Damon.”

Maybe he deserves this? After all the death and heart-break he’s caused, maybe he _deserves _this? Maybe looking into her searching eyes and saying ‘no’, above the screaming in his lungs, his chest, the heart she’s reviving, is his comeuppance?

She leans back against her chair, brow furrowed. “I don’t believe it.”

_Because it’s a lie. _

Damon flicks his hand across the table to steal a fry. “Sixty-years is quite generous Bon-bon. What’s to say we won’t die again and get trapped in another Prison World?”

“Well then I guess you’ll be stuck with me forever,” she grins and his chest concaves.

“Sounds awful.”

She laughs and it’s brilliant, as usual. “You used to be able to do that snarky, I-hate-you-Bonnie thing _so_ well. I almost miss it. That attempt was just pitiful.”

He threads a hand through his hair and she watches; he notices and tries not to smoulder. “Be careful what you wish for, Bonniekins.”

“Is it possible for you to just say my name?” her mouth flirts with a smile.

“_Obviously_, Bonnie….” Damon pauses for dramatic effect, then puffs his cheeks to say, “…Boop,” with a satisfying pop.

She snorts and calls him a child, which he takes, proudly, and twirls the straw of his coke with his tongue, smug and almost happy.

(And almost happy isn’t a bad life, she’s showing him that.)

* * *

When she knocks on his door all jittery and giggly the following morning, Damon’s convinced she’s just been asked out by bloody James Franco or someone and the scowl that films his features is just friendly (not-so-friendly) jealousy at the idea.

“I’ve got you a date,” is what she grins instead and Damon doesn’t say anything but ‘oh’.

“It’s not a big deal, just a friendly meet-up with a stranger, that’s all,” she hurries, pushing past him into the Boarding House hallway, reminding him of Caroline Forbes on a mission – terrifying, avoid _at all _costs – “It’s been almost a year and a half now,” she smiles, “I think this is a good thing.”

Several emotions jostle for prominence in his mind but, as he stares at the witch in the centre of his living room, her eyes rounded in trepidation, he’s too exhausted to argue.

“Is she human?”

Surprise flashes across her face then she laughs, quickly, “Wow our lives are strange. Yup, she’s human. Don’t eat her,” she blushes, “You know what I mean.”

He briefly enjoys her embarrassment and flings his body on the couch, massaging his temples at the forming headache. Well, as close to a headache a vampire can get. “Don’t drink her blood, don’t compel her, be _normal_. Got it.”

Bonnie pushes at his legs to make room for her on the couch; the cushions sigh a little with the added weight. “Are you okay?” she asks softly, running her hand along lower region of his pant leg. It’s so affectionate, he squeezes his eyes shut. _See, touchy._

“Fine.”

“Shit, Damon, I’m sorry. I just… I want you to be happy and recently, I don’t know, it seems like something’s been on your mind.”

“I’m fine,” he snaps without meaning to.

The couch groans as she shifts, wriggling up the crevice between him and the back cushions until she’s got her head just below his shoulder and her arms wrapped around his front. Her touch, her scent, is nauseating, and he hates how fucking_ safe_ he feels. His fingers are running along her hands and her next words dance on the shell of his ear.

“Are you happy?”

Damon shivers. The softness of her breasts are pressing against him and his veins actually _thicken _with the effort of control. He stays very still. _Almost_, his fingers seem unbidden to stop stroking hers, that sliver of touch that’s allowed, that she won’t question.

“Talk to me,” Bonnie whispers and then she kisses him. It’s a near silent brush of skin against skin, the nakedness of his exposed neck, connecting with the warmth of her lips. And if it weren’t for the throb of lifted contact, the itch of his hand to touch where she met him, he might have imagined it.

“What was that?”

He feels her tense around his frame. “I said, talk to me.”

“No,” his frustration swarms, “No, what was _that_?”

“Nothing.”

Damon flinches, ripping open Bonnie’s cage around his chest, freeing himself from the couch and her stupid kisses that aren’t kisses; love that isn’t really love.

“Damon?” Bonnie pushes up from the cushions, her hair static and poking the air in awkward angles. He yanks away from her concerned stare and paces toward the fireplace – the Bourbon waiting for him. “Damon, what the hell?”

He chucks the liquid down his throat, ignoring her. The vampire pours himself another glass but at the hand on his shoulder, he pivots, fangs probing at his gums.

Shock flickers across the witch’s eyes but not fear, she doesn’t fear her best friend and today, that makes him angrier.

“What the fuck _was_ that?” he says again, trembling with the effort of control. Bonnie doesn’t take a step back; doesn’t remove her hand from his shoulder, instead, she places her other one.

“Damon”- the pulse through her finger tips is steady – “_Talk to me_.”

“Bonnie, let go,” he says carefully, and the jolt her heartbeat is betraying. She senses, as does Damon, his danger.

The witch shakes her head. “No.” Her breath thickens with the slow crawl of veins but she doesn’t flinch. “I’m not going anywhere, you know that. Not now, not ever.”

His mouth twitches with the influx of pointed canines – torn between releasing the monster to push her away, terrified that when he does, she will. Her fingers flutter over his skin, the translucent horror of it, and land, feather-light, tracing the veins that scratch and burn. His world compresses into that touch.

“Please,” her voice breaks, “_Talk_ to me.”

Damon slams his eyes shut. _Almost happy. Almost happy. _

Her breath tickles; her fingers sliding from beneath his eyes to his chin, down his neck. Her pulse rises and then nothing, silence, and she’s kissing him. The tremor in her bottom lip as it pulls a tentative response from his. Unravelling and colliding, the coils of tension, his fangs, re-absorbing, and _Bonnie_, Bonnie’s _kissing _him.

And then she’s not.

* * *

**A/N: I’m sure I can be persuaded to write a part two – if people want. Reviews please!**

**As always, if you want to support my writing, a coffee is always appreciated. I’m wavesketcher on ko-fi or there is a link in my tumblr bio (perpetualimaginings). **


	2. Almost (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS. I have SO MANY one-shot ideas bouncing around my head ahh. I just want to write and write (but also should probably work a bit more on my novel???).   
Anyway, this is part deux of ‘Almost.’

Bonnie gapes into their distance - the step she made to release him. Damon’s expression is hung between shock and something more electric, something she _can’t_ analyse right now. She pulls a hand across her eyes and says, “I shouldn’t have done that” just _he_ says, “What took you so long?”

“What?”

“What?”

If the whole situation wasn’t so strained, if she didn’t have to be so _delicate_, she might have laughed… both of them might have.

“I just mean…” Bonnie stalls under his stare; it’s so damn intense and that kiss was so damn good and he looks so damn_ sad_. “Now it will be weird, won’t it? We’ve… we’ve never done that before.”

Damon blinks slowly, processing, then his eyes storm over, shutting her out. “So why _did _you?”

It feels like an accusation and Bonnie can’t understand why when he kissed her back – like, a lot, fact, it was so much, she pulled away because she was scared of falling into him. Drowning in someone like Damon Salvatore is a death sentence and she already loves him too much. 

“I could see you trying to fight _it_. You wouldn’t talk to me. I- I don’t know, I just did. I wasn’t thinking.”

The vampire folds his arms across his chest. “And now you’ve _thought_, you’re disgusted.”

His face morphed back when their lips made contact but Bonnie could still taste the terror, an intensity (and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t thrill her). Even now, in the swell of evening light, there’s the remnants of a red temper dusting his eyes. “Of course, I wasn’t disgusted. Why would you think that?”

Damon’s lips loosen in a disbelieving laugh, “Oh, _I don’t know_. Maybe because you jolted away like you’d been stung? Maybe because, as you said, we’ve never _done that before_?”

Bonnie tenses. “I’m _sorry_, I didn’t know I was obligated to kiss you. I didn’t realise that was a requirement to being your friend,” she snaps, matching his sarcasm.

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it.”

“No, I don’t know, Damon! One minute, we’re on the couch and the next you’re shaking and your eyes are turning black. I was _scared_ for you.” She waits for his response, a flicker of understanding, something that _she_ can understand.

But it’s Damon and he’s obstinate. “Right, so when you’re scared for Stefan, you kiss him? Or Caroline or-”

“Why are you being such a child!?”

“Because I need you to know!”

Massaging her temple, she groans, the itching of a Damon sized headache forming. “This is exactly why I shouldn’t have done it. You’re being neurotic.”

His eyes bulge at her words, “_Neurotic_!? I’m just trying to figure out why the fuck my best friend decides to kiss me.”

An eyebrow curves above the sharp and blue accusatory glare. And Bonnie’s thoroughly irritated now. “You kissed me back!”

“Of course, I did!”

She’s pushing her mouth into a retort when it makes sense, all of it. The realisation slams into her chest.

Damon’s mouth has assumed a strange sort of twitching, like he wants to protest what is clicking into place but doesn’t know where to begin. That, and the red flush creeping up his neck, confirm the ridiculousness that Damon Salvatore, enemy turned best friend, star-struck lover of Elena Gilbert, is, _somehow_, in love with her.

_Well, shit. _

Bonnie sits down on the couch. “When did this happen?”

His reply is rapid. “When did what happen?”

“You’re…” she knits absent words with her hands, “feelings for me?”

Surprise flashes, but defeat settles. “Oh, that.” He joins her on the couch, the safe distance of a single cushion between them. “I’d like to say sometime these past few months but,” he weaves fingers through his hair, “it’s probably been much longer than that.”

She studies him. “How _much_ longer?”

“I don’t know, Bon, when you came back from the Prison World,_ in_ the Prison World, the first day you witchy jujued my head?”

“You’re kidding.”

Damon gives a wry smile. “I didn’t know, really know, until recently. And I didn’t really, _really_, know until just…” he swings a hand towards the fireplace, where they kissed, and Bonnie cringes, “then.”

He continues over her silence, “It’s hardly surprising is it? A) I’m cursed with a lifetime of unrequited love and B) it’s _you_. It would have to be you,” she observes how his mouth kicks up, affectionate in a way that makes her stomach swoop, “the most irritating, judgemental, little smart-ass I know.”

“Speak for yourself,” she says quietly, “I’m _surprised_ because it’s you.”

Damon straightens. “Explain.”

“Elena, Damon, _Elena_.” Bonnie sighs at his confused brow. “You know, in the Prison World? At first, I wanted to kill you but… then I just _didn’t_ anymore. It kinda freaked me out… liking your company. It freaked me out even more when I realised, I liked you, quite a lot.”

It’s the most attentive she’s ever seen the vampire, listening, very still, and the memories continue to fall upon her mind. “Do you remember that evening when it was my turn to cook dinner and I couldn’t remember the ratio of cheese to milk in the lasagne my dad used to make and then it just hit me how alone we were and I just started to cry?”

Damon nods.

“And then you found me out on the porch and brought a blanket and two bowls and you said that you finished the lasagne and that it probably wasn’t as good how my dad makes it but you tried anyway?”

“I do.”

Bonnie feels the smile in her words, “It was the most caring I’d ever seen you be. You didn’t want anything from me – I had nothing to give. We were just trapped alone in another dimension and you made the lasagne with those shitty value pasta sheets from the store.”

“And…?” He speaks like he’s scared of the answer.

“And then we came back and it was just Elena,” she replies, and deflates a little.

“Bonnie,” Damon begins, eyes wide and searching, “You know how much I missed you… how much I wanted you back.”

“No, I know, but… not like how I secretly hoped you missed me,” Bonnie swallows, “You went from being _my_ person to Elena’s and that… that was just something I had to come to terms with. And I did.”

“Enzo?”

She nods in answer. “It felt so good to be chosen,” she admits, something she isn’t sure she’s ever really admitted to herself.

The silence folds, then Damon says, very quietly, barely there. “What are you saying, Bonnie?”

_I don’t know. _“I don’t know,” she winces, tilting her head to look at him, “Is that okay?”

And softly her best friend says, “That’s okay.” There’s a pause and then the corner of his mouth lifts, “Gilmore girls?”

It’s absurd – all of it – but she agrees and Damon fumbles for the remote. The opening montage bursts to life; Bonnie stretches her legs and her toes flinch against Damon’s thigh. She thinks about curling up but his warmth is nice, it really is, and if he’s noticed, he hasn’t objected.

“Bon?”

She picks her head up from the cushions. “Yeah?”

“Will you go on a date with me?”

The question flips about in her mind for a little bit (not unpleasantly, definitely not). “Okay.”

Bonnie’s watching the screen but she knows he’s grinning when he says, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And her socked feet work their way up Damon’s thigh and into his lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may not have been the ending you were expecting but I quite like that there wasn’t a big declaration of love from Bonnie’s side. Feelings are complicated and as she’s trying to figure out how she feels about Damon’s confession, I think a simple date is a good (and kinda adorable) place to start.   
Review please! Stay tuned for the next one shot coming VERY soon. I’m so excited.   
P.S To those that have bought me coffees, I am so beyond grateful.


	3. Pretence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been sick for a while now and have decided to turn my cooped-up frustration into creativity. I did promise a fast update and here we are ;) Two in the space of a day.   
This is pretty fluffy, inspired by To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. I’m not super happy with it but I hope it will make you smile. The next chapter will be particularly angsty and I am sooooo excited to write it. Until then, enjoy Bamon being Bamon: in denial.   
(Canon apart from no Elena and Stefan isn’t dead. Yay. I’ve also tried to write both perspectives at the same time rather than alternating like usual. Undecided if it worked or not.)

ii. Pretence

Damon lowers his book at the witch’s aggressive intrusion. He peers over the spine, “What’s got you in a grump?”

Bonnie slumps into the cushions, scowling like a petulant child. It’s quite amusing. “Caroline.” She lifts a brow to his equally dejected posture. “And you?”

“Stefan.”

The witch groans. “I don’t understand why they can’t just let us _be_. I mean, I’m perfectly happy on my own.”

Damon folds the corner of his book page. “Just as I happen to _like_ being a moody bachelor without ties.”

“Exactly!” She debates whether to expand or not, then, deciding she needs someone to rant to, adds, “Caroline put me on a dating app.”

The vampire releases a low whistle. “Bet all the old farts _loved_ you.”

“Rude,” Bonnie retorts, leaning across the cushions to flick him, “A lot of them were actually pretty cute.”

“But?”

“But I’d rather not go to my best friend’s anniversary party with a stranger from the internet.”

They sit in agreeable silence for a while until Damon says, “You realise they’re not going to stop until we find someone, right?”

“I’m beginning to.” The weight of his stare lingers and Bonnie glares at him, “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he hums, privately enjoying the witch’s paranoia.

“Damon Salvatore. _What?_”

“Nothing. It was just a stupid idea.”

“Tell me,” Bonnie demands, definitely _not_ in the mood for Salvatore playtime. 

He feigns indifference, walking his fingers over the top of the couch in boredom. “They’d never believe it.”

“_What_!?” She’s irritated now; Damon relents before things get ugly.

“What if we went together?”

She shifts on the pillow to stare at him. “I don’t understand.”

“You know like _together_, together only… fake. We’ll be pretending.”

“Pretending to _date_?”

“It’s stupid, right. We could never pull it off.”

He chews on his cheek, fixated by the fireplace, waiting for her answer. Bonnie fights a laugh. “Damon, I can’t believe I’m saying this but… that’s genius.”

“Really!?” It it’s a rare occurrence: Bonnie praising him. “I mean, yeah, obviously.”

“But…,” her brow folds in thought, “I have a few ground rules.”

“_Shocking_.”

Bonnie throws him her best ‘I’m serious’ expression. “No… kissing or anything.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d even _want_ to.” He pushes at the strands on his forehead, a smirk tickling the corner of his lip, “So, when are we telling the other Salvatore’s, babe?”

“Ew, _no way_. No ‘babe’.”

Damon’s eyes crinkle with amusement. Already, this is shaping up to be his best idea yet. “What am I supposed to call you?”

“What did you used to call Elena?”

The memory of his past relationship stings a little. “Er, just Elena, I guess.” _God, we were boring. _

She thinks for a moment; he already has so many nicknames, it’s like he enjoys flirting with her name, spinning it longer, shorter, how it sounds on his tongue. “I think Bon-bon’s fine.”

He doesn’t realise he’s smirking until she says, “What?” in her defensive way.

“I _knew_ you liked being called that.”

“Shut up,” she eye-rolls.

Damon wags a finger. “Nuh, uh. If we’re going to be convincing, we need to look the picture of love. That means no ‘shut ups’ or ‘asshole’ or ‘dick’,” another smirk, “Unless…”

“Ground rules. _No_.”

“I’m joking. _Chillax_. This will be fun.”

And, whilst Damon beams internally with the promise of embarrassing, flirting, and making her squirm, Bonnie wonders what the _hell_ she’s got herself into.

* * *

When Damon told Stefan his date was going to be Bonnie, the man merely lifted an eyebrow.

“What? No shock? No cries of ‘no don’t corrupt our dear, saviour Bonnie’?”

The former vampire only held up a tie. “Red or blue?”

“_Stefan_.”

His brother sighed. “Damon, you and Bonnie, it was inevitable. You’ve always had a connection.”

“What connection?” Damon hurried then back-tracked, “I mean, yeah, it’s _electric_.”

And Bonnie too experienced a similar reaction from Caroline: the blonde’s mouth folding smugly, an expression that said, _I knew it_.

“Is it really that unsurprising?”

“Honestly, I’m more surprised by how long it took. I kind of expected you two to start fucking as soon as Elena dumped Damon.”

Bonnie’s eyes bulged at that.

“They’re crazy,” Damon says now, phone balanced between ear and shoulder as he attempts to stuff his toes into patent dress shoes. “You know, Bon,_ you_ should really be helping me find an outfit. As my girlfriend and everything.” His lip curls with the image of her reaction.

“Yes, because finding a suit is so strenuous,” is her expectedly snarky reply.

“It’s hard finding one that looks good,” he whines to his reflection (because he’s not _so _proud to not fish for compliments.)

“Oh please, you know you look good in a suit,” she quips and his mouth twitches with a smile.

“Are you flirting with me, _Bon-bon_?”

“_And_ I’m hanging up.”

Bonnie cuts him off mid-chuckle. It’s two days until the party and nerves are already making their unwelcomed home in her stomach. She shouldn’t be anxious. Not really. It’s _Damon_, for goodness sake. Her somewhat problematic best friend. But… it’s _also_ the fact that it’s Damon, in all his unpredictability, that makes her so jittery. Not to mention, they’ll have an audience: Matt and Rick and friends from Whitmore, observing them.

_I should have just found a dude from online. _

At four pm, the demanding vampire pings across her phone screen, ordering her to pick up a parcel from the front step. Grumbling, Bonnie unpeels herself from the couch and shuffles across the hall to open the front door.

The box is square and white and tied with an illustrious black bow. She toes it with her slipper, half expecting something to jump out and terrify her. Nothing. It’s only when she bends towards it for closer inspection that she notices a gold label that reads: _To match my tie. _Bonnie flips it over: _And your eyes._

Rolling said eyes at the cliché, Bonnie scoops the box from the step and edges back inside. She places the box on the coffee table and maybe there’s just a _little_ bit of intrigue there? It’s been a while since her wardrobe acquired a new garment.

With quiet excitement, she unties the bow and eases off the lid. A gasp falls from her mouth. Elena would always gush over how lavish Damon’s gifts were but this… this is just unnecessary.

Fifteen minutes later, she sends him a text:

**Damon, the dress is too much. **

He replies instantly:

_Have you tried it on?_

**Yes. **

_And?_

**It’s beautiful but I can’t accept it.**

_Don’t be stupid, you need to look in my league ;) _

Bonnie touches the silk again. It’s green, not a colour she would usually go for, but, Damon’s right, it does _match her eyes_. She felt pretty, beautiful even, and the knowledge that he chose it specially makes her feel oddly fluttery – something like excitement coalescing with all those nerves. _Weird. _

* * *

_Someone’s taking their sweet time. _Damon shoves his hand on the horn again. _Is she deaf? _Growing irritable just sitting in his car, the vampire probes the driver’s door handle and steps onto the street, his suffocating patent brougue-things squeaking with the effort. _Time is money, Bon-bon, _he thinks, marching up to her house and raising a hand to bang on it.

The motion matches Bonnie’s – she opens the door to his raised arm and mildly pissed off scowl. “Wow, impatient much,” she grumbles but his irritation’s dissolved, along with any thought other than _damn._

It takes a moment before she understands this is him _checking her out_. His eyes roam slowly over her frame, pausing for breath on her cleavage before widening at her face in surprise. Bonnie wonders if she should be offended. Does she really look _that bad_ usually?

“Um, are we done gawking?”

Damon’s jaw re-aligns. “I wasn’t gawking,” he lies, fighting the blush with gritted teeth. It really is unfortunate that he still manages to do that… being dead and all.

Bonnie’s face dimples with amusement. She pulls the door to a close and begins making her way to the car, throwing an innocent, “Well, you chose the dress,” over her shoulder with satisfaction.

He animates a second later, jogging to beat her to the car door. “Let me get that for you, _Bon-bon_,” he charms.

She quirks a brow. “Is this what it’s going to be like? Mr Chivalry all night?”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Bonnie sweeps over his sharp features, the teasing smirk, and that _suit_ – a Salvatore in a suit really is something else – and decides, “No. I could get used to it.”

“Good. Because I want my girlfriend to be happy.” He says it so flippantly, they both stall: Damon, at how natural it sounded, Bonnie, at how fluttery (again!) it made her feel.

The vampire climbs into the driver’s seat and reassures that he’s just getting into the role; the witch smooths the folds in her green dress and blames it on the anticipation of pretence.

…

“I think we need a game plan,” Damon announces later, pulling into the car park. The party’s at the Country Hall, barely recognisable now with all the twinkling and sparkling emanating from the walls. Caroline’s decked the whole _damn_ thing out in string lights – he squints at the sight.

Bonnie turns from the window. “What did you have in mind?”

“Hand-holding. You know, for when we walk in.”

“So _romantic_,” she teases.

“Is that a no?”

The flickering glow catches in her eye-roll. “I think I can manage holding your hand without being _too _disgusted.”

“Great,” he leans back into the car’s soft leather, “Got any other bright ideas?”

“Maybe like… whispering?”

Damon snorts. “_What_?”

“Like private jokes, that kind of thing,” she finishes, regretting saying anything at all.

The vampire widens his eyes in understanding. “Stefan already thinks we do that.”

“Well, there we go. We just need to look… couple-y.”

Damon glances at his watch. “Ten to. You ready, Bon-bon?”

She looks nervous, a strained smile stretching her pretty mouth. He reaches to pat her knee, “We got this.”

He exits the car first, lifting an amicable hand at several well-dressed couples. _No idea who the fuck you are. _Damon swings round to the other side, fingers on the handle, and hesitates – Bonnie is chewing on her nails, _terrified_, poor thing. She senses his stare and smiles again, equally as strained. Damon rolls his eyes and yanks open the door, “You know, we’ll be a lot more convincing if you don’t look like you want to run away.”

“I’m not used to doing this,” she admits, “_Lying_.”

“Well, Bon-bon, good job we’re learning to live a little.” He flashes a mischievous grin and her stomach tumbles (can it stop doing that?). She blinks at his outstretched hand, pale, slender fingers waiting for hers.

_Show-time. _

There’s at once a comforting familiarity and foreign _wildness_ to holding Bonnie’s hand. He swings their arms to shake it away – the former or latter, he doesn’t know, whatever one’s worse. The building glows, inviting in its warmth, and Damon’s almost excited… celebrating his brother’s marriage, spending the night with his best friend. Life has been worse, he smiles, a little astounded, when he thinks, _has it ever been better?_

The movement of his thumb across the back of her hand is nice, comforting. The sweeping sensation it sends to her stomach is just hunger, she needs a snack. Bonnie smiles at the other couples, recognising a few faces from lectures or high school dances. Their eyes fall to her entwinned hand and Damon tightens around her fingers. Rick, who is hovering by the door with a cigarette, calls them over.

“Damon! Bonnie!”

She expects the vampire to drop her hand when he embraces his friend but it remains attached to hers, thumb still brushing against her skin. Rick notices and grins, patting Damon on the back.

“Nice to see you finally make a move,” he chuckles.

“She took a lot of winning over,” Damon jokes, settling into his role easily. He slides his gaze to Bonnie, wondering how she’ll react, but to his delight, she’s eye-rolling, playing along.

“I said yes just to shut him up,” she says dryly and Rick laughs.

“With Damon, I don’t blame you.”

They say their goodbyes and continue their advances into the hall, Damon, once again, near blinded by the exuberance of string lights. _Blondie really is something else._ Several tables are scattered around the room, draped in ivy and candles and he’s near-convinced he’s taken a time-machine to three years ago.

He lowers towards Bonnie’s ear. “Is it just me, or have we done this before?”

Her chuckle pleases him. “You know, Caroline. One wedding isn’t enough.”

Damon has a point though; the word _extra _comes to Bonnie’s mind. Still, she spots the couple in the corner, toasting to one another and entertaining a small cluster of guests, she’s happy. After all the shit they’ve been through, they’re more than allowed to be greedy with their happiness. Her mouth curves with the realisation that she’s pretty happy right now too.

“Bonnie!” She turns to see a tall girl in a pixie crop rushing over to her.

“Alison! Wow, you look great.”

“And you. It’s been ages,” she twists her grin to Damon, eyebrow raised expectantly, “Hi, I’m Alison. Bonnie and I had Art History together at Whitmore.”

“Damon,” he says tightly (because he’s never been the warmest at meeting new people). Her smile loosens and Bonnie quickly asks another question, leaving him to study the hall, attached to her hand like some sort of estranged limb. He hasn’t felt like this since Elena. Placing a hand on the small of her back, he leans towards her and says softly, “I’ll get you a drink”. Bonnie inclines her head to thank him and he kisses her cheek, just like that, _fuck_. He expects her to glare but her eyes merely swell a little in surprise and then she’s turning back to Allison, who is commenting on how _cute_ they both are.

It’s sickening and none of this is real but… he finds himself agreeing.

Stefan joins at him the bar with a nudge. “You and Bon look cosy.”

Damon gestures around the hall, the extravagance of it all, “Like you can talk.”

“True.” He frowns for a moment, subsiding into serious Stefan, “Seriously though, I’m happy for you. I really am.”

“Thanks, brother,” he says, unable to look him in the eyes.

The night picks up quickly. With the buzz of guests, champagne, a golden light, the atmosphere shifts into elegance, _sultry _even. And it dawns on Bonnie just how _many_ couples there are. Allison left to go and dance with her fiancé and she found a chair to perch on, watching the room from afar, admiring the dresses and love and, in the middle, hanging off Stefan’s neck, her oldest friend. A pang of jealousy strikes uncomfortably and she scratches at it, affronted by the feeling when she’s so _happy_ for her, she is. Caroline deserves this.

_But I do too, _she thinks quietly.

Damon begins to meander his way back to the witch: tonight’s appointed girlfriend. He’s got Bonnie a glass of rose – her favourite – and is focussing all his vamp balance on not spilling it. That is, until he notices her expression, and then, his only concern is getting to her quickly.

“Are you okay?” he worries, placing her now half-spilled glass on the table. “You look sad?”

Bonnie blinks and shakes her face into a smile. “Great. Is that rose?”

Damon produces a proud smirk, “Of course.” He wiggles his way round to her side, stealing a chair from another table to sit next to her. The distance looks awkward so he says, “Just playing the part,” and drapes his arm over her shoulder.

Bonnie reaches to play with his loose fingers, pushing up into the open space so their hands are entwinned once again. “Me too.”

They don’t need to, Caroline and Stefan are clearly pre-occupied but it’s not an _entirely _hideous feeling, his proximity. He smells of pine needles; it’s homely.

“I think we should dance,” Damon announces.

“Now?”

“Now.”

She laughs as he lifts his arm, hands still attached, causing her to spin off her chair and into his chest. He steadies her dizziness – hands on her shoulders and even there, his thumb brushes. Bonnie drops her gaze; Damon releases her skin.

They carve a space between the couples and she smiles, embarrassed, he can tell. Damon holds his hand aloof, catching hers in the air above them. “The last time we did this was at their wedding,” he whispers into her ear, Bonnie’s frame a breath from his. “And then I did this.” He spins her suddenly, her laugh thrilling in a way he knows it isn’t supposed to. She falls back into his arms, eyes bright, _wild_.

“I remember.”

“You’ve always been my favourite dance partner, Bon-Bon,” he says (because he’s feeling reckless and the string lights have turned him giddy).

“Careful,” she whispers, “I think the party’s making you soft.”

The skin around his eyes crinkle. “Maybe, or maybe I’m just in love with you.”

Bonnie laughs, “You’re a good actor, Damon Salvatore,” and he’s trying to understand why he didn’t want that to be her reaction.

It’s a little frightening how much his statement _didn’t_ frighten him.

* * *

At twenty to twelve, Caroline taps a spoon to her champagne glass, giggles, and calls for a speech. Her words are sweet, interjected by more bubbly-induced giggles, and Stefan holds her hand throughout it all, utterly captivated. Bonnie risks a glance at Damon, the other Salvatore, his brow buried in thought. His hair is ruffled – _tousled_, as he corrected – and maybe it’s the wine but she feels such a surge of affection staring at him, she has to touch his hand.

The vampire glances at it, then her, then nods. “Right, sorry, I forgot.”

She doesn’t know how to tell him that she had forgotten to.

“And, on the theme of love, I wanted to give a shout-out to my brother.” Stefan’s toast makes them flinch. He grins at them, “To Bonnie and Damon, may you be as happy as Care and I.”

The room erupts in applause and _this is too much_. Bonnie heats with the attention, the falsity, but Damon, he stands, Bourbon in hand, lifting the glass to his brother.

“Damon, why don’t you say something?” the younger Salvatore probes and Damon thinks _fuck it, live a little right, Bonnie? _

He clears his throat and tries to avoid her startled expression, eyes rounded in _whatever you’re doing stop, please_ but he’s always gone after what he’s wanted and right now, in this stupidly sparkly hall, it’s never been clearer.

“Bonnie, Bon-bon, we’ve had an interesting relationship,” he gives a wry smile, “There have been times you’ve tried to kill me, times I’ve tried to kill you,” – the room laughs, obviously unaware that what he’s saying is _literally_ true - “times where we’ve laughed, bickered, danced, times I’ve thrashed you at monopoly, _one_ time you thrashed me,” – another trickle of laughter – “and I wouldn’t change any of it. All the years. Even the ones in between.” He moistens his lips and dares to look at her, the inevitable panic, but what he sees, the _something,_ in those green eyes, enlivened by that green dress, makes him say, “And it’s been real. All of it.”

He resumes his seat to a chorus of awes and claps, his sister-in-law almost bursting with the sappiness of it all. Damon chases the room with a smile until at last, it lands on Bonnie. “Was that okay?” He says quietly, “Not too much?”

She threads her fingers together, hooking and unhooking until the silence has stretched too long and she has to answer. “I didn’t expect that,” she says honestly.

Damon blows out a breath. “You’re telling me.”

“It was real,” she repeats quoting him, “_All _of it.” A smirk flirts with her words, “Are you going to write poetry about me now?”

“Don’t be an ass,” he grumbles.

“Maybe a song? ‘It was real’ has a nice, Daniel Bedingfield ring to it?”

“Funny.”

“That’s me,” she grins but takes his hand and holds it, on her lap, under the table, just for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a bit carried away with this one… I Haven’t written this long a chapter in a while but I enjoyed getting in my Bamon feels so much, I just couldn’t stop. Apparently listening to love songs whilst you write fanfiction results in something extremely fluffy. I’m sorry if you find the ending a bit rushed but that’s the beauty of one-shots – little snippets into their life.   
Please do leave a review. See you soon for my favourite idea yet!


	4. Kryptonite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn’t the chapter I intended to upload next BUT this little idea came to me last night and would not leave my head until I’d typed out all the dialogue on my phone’s notes page (there’s a lot of random Bamon interactions in my phone, under shopping lists etc lol).   
This is my first time writing NoHumanity!Damon eek - he kinda broke my heart.

iii. Kryptonite

The warehouse doors are flung open with a curl of her wrist. Assaulting her senses, the stench of blood lurches against her throat, making her want to gag. She doesn’t – Bonnie knows that flinching in the cold stare that observes her is what he wants.

“Can I help you?” In his hands hangs a body – almost, the shuddery breath and Damon’s glistening crimson mouth send an involuntary shiver. The vampire’s hands twitch and the girl drops to the ground with an echoing crack. “Oops.”

Bonnie summons magic from her core, tensing with the simmering authority beneath her skin. Damon just swirls his tongue around each digit, watching her, waiting, as he cleans life off his bloodied hand. 

“So,” he sighs, “What’s the plan? Tie me up, vervain me, pop a blood vessel, burn the thing humanity-me loves most in the world?”

Her voice is low, “Actually, I’m just going to ask you.”

“Ask me?” His eyebrow curves disbelievingly. 

“Yes. Will you come back to Mystic Falls?”

And there’s nothing more than iced, dead, indifference as he says, “No.”

But for Bonnie, there’s a delicate power. “Okay,” she says simply and turns on her heel. 

“That’s it? You’re giving up easily.”

She teeters on the ball of her foot, torn between indulging him or leaving with the thrill of, for once in her life, _not_ being the saviour. “I came because Stefan asked me to.”

Damon drags his gaze across the room, his iris’ blackening at the mirrored blood-stains. “Well _that’s _predictable. I would ask how my little brother is but honestly, I don’t give a fuck.”

And Bonnie almost smiles, “Which is exactly why I’m going to walk away and leave you to your destruction because honestly, _I don’t give a fuck_ either.”

Something scrapes against his mind as he hears her drive away. Maybe hurt? Betrayal? Damon smacks his lips together and admires the still oozing neck of the attractive blonde by his feet. _Nope, just hunger. _

…

Her hands tremble around the steering wheel: the leaping drum of adrenalin and fear. She _doesn’t _care, not anymore. She’s not indebted to him – she’s not his Elena. She shouldn’t have to pick up the scraps of Damon Salvatore when he doesn’t care enough to stick around. He made that choice when he decided to desiccate, choosing a shrivelled shell of a human over being her best friend. 

“Fuck you,” she says out loud. It feels good, so she says it again, shouts it. But Bonnie wants more - her rage pulses - she _needs _more than saying it to herself. 

The warehouse doors are still open, gaping like a wound and, Damon, in the centre, unfeeling, unloving, the _coward_-

“Fuck you.”

Surprise flickers before his switch re-asserts, smoothing his features into blankness. “I’m down.”

“Fuck you,” Bonnie says again, louder, “And your cop outs. The rest of the world has to deal with shit – shit that you made. We don’t get do-overs, or pauses, or switches.” She wants to scream it; the experience perversely liberating. “Yes, your girlfriend is in a coma and that sucks, but she’s not your whole damn _world_, Damon!”

Her raging pulse is both irritating and arousing. “Bonnie darling, don’t make me kill you to just to shut you up.”

She steps further into the room, heeled boots attacking the matt floor. “What about Stefan? Rick? Caroline?” Bonnie inhales, “What about me? You chose _me_. You saved my life even when it meant losing Elena?”

“_Bonnie_,” he drawls, “My heart bleeds for you, really. You seemed to have forgotten that flipping my switch means that all the shit you’re saying right now,” he gestures around his mouth, “is nothing more than just watching your lips flap up and down.” 

The moisture in her eyes build. _If you start crying bitch, I will have to suck that magic blood dry. _His mouth kicks up at the idea. 

“You’re a _coward_, Damon Salvatore,” she continues, “And I’m an idiot to have ever felt something for you.”

_All these women… so angsty about him. _He lifts a foot to hop over the blonde meal and swaggers over to the tiny witch, bored of listening to her tell him what a dick he is. “Aw are you crying because you like me? Has someone got a big girl crush on the big bad vampire?” His eyes flare. “Do I turn you on?” And her shiver is delicious; his laugh cuts the air. “Are you… oh, that’s tragic… are you _in-love_ with me?”

“Shut up.”

“I mean, you’re pretty and all, but-”

The intensity of the pain buckles his legs. Bonnie keeps her eyes trained on the vampire as he sprawls on the ground, pulling at his head in agony. 

“You bitch!” He screams, the sound ricocheting off every wall and into her fury. She stalks towards him, bending over the writhing thing with incensed power. 

Only when she’s a breath away from his ear does the pain cease, allowing her to whisper, “Anything I felt for you died when you got in that coffin.”

Damon’s chest heaves with the effort of recovery. “You don’t mean that,” he spits out, eyes still scrunched shut. 

Bonnie stretches. “Oh, I do. You’re nothing to me, Damon.”

“Was that them?” He croaks to her retreating back, “Your last words?”

She tilts her chin in the yawning doorway. “Actually, I wanted to thank you.” Even through his blurred vision, he’s sure she smiles, “For showing me that I deserve more.”

_Wait. _Damon’s muscles twinge with the effort of lifting his head. _Wait! _Something scratches at his mind again, expect this time, it falls to his chest, taps at the place where his heart used to drum. She yanks open the car door without a backward glance and, as she drives away for a second time, he realises he’s fighting the urge to yell her name. Make her stay. Damon throws his head back on the concrete. 

_Well, shit. Bonnie Bennett, my kryptonite. _

He winces at the murder scene; the blonde’s eyelids now marbled. Another corpse to his already mounted conscience. Damon sighs, brushes the lint off his pants, salutes the bodies he’s going to have to atone for in whatever hell awaits him, and staggers out of the warehouse. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do take the time to leave a review - I read every single one and do a little happy dance at the notification. Also, if you’d like to, you can buy me a coffee over at ko-fi. My username is just Wavesketcher. Any support is much appreciated.   
See you soon!


	5. Amaryllis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short first instalment of the next (and possibly my favourite?) mini-series. I’m going away on holiday tomorrow so wanted to get something uploaded today. 
> 
> (This is my first completely canon fic aka all 8 seasons of TVD happened *regretfully lol* minus the whole afterlife thing. Let’s imagine that the scene where Elena lets go of Damon’s hand and runs to her family is them breaking up. We all know that relationship wasn’t going to last anyway, let’s be real.)

iv. Amaryllis

He’s started grocery shopping on Monday mornings. It feels productive, _domestic_, and he has first choice of the more exotic fruit and vegetables. The mini-mart is usually dead at 8am but for him and a couple of grannies humming along to _Take That_ on the store speaker. He’s starting wearing earphones whilst he browses too – an eclectic blend of _Led Zeppelin_ and, regretfully, the _Hamilton _soundtrack – which is why he only the notices the child when a small hand tugs on his jeans.

Damon flicks his earphone cable; the girl points a finger at the shelf.

“Excuse me, can you get that button squash?”

He can’t remember the last time he interacted with children… maybe Rick and Caroline’s kids? He was probably less than Uncle material, back then. Something about his all black, mild indifference, doesn’t make Damon Salvatore the most approachable. “The _butternut _squash?”

Impatience flickers across her round eyes. “Yes, the button squash. My mommy can’t reach it.”

He reaches an arm over the broccoli, a little dumbfounded. She grins at him when he hands her the vegetable, a black square where one of her baby teeth used to be. Damon frowns.

“Where _is_ your mommy?”

“She’s just-”

“Amaryllis!”

“Here, mommy!”

The voice sparks an estranged familiarity in a buried part of his brain. He frowns again, turning from the crates of veg to watch the kid race down the aisle and into the arms of her mother.

“What did I say about running off?” She says into the girl’s hair and again, his mind twinges. _She sounds almost like-_

His mouth unhooks as the woman stands, the apologetic smile in her lips dissolving to shock.

_Bonnie. _

“You’re back,” he says without thinking and despite everything, his grin is reflexive, itching at all his features – the need to run to her.

“I’m back.” Bonnie looks as though she wants to run too, away or into him, he can’t tell, it’s been too long.

“Mommy?”

The kid hanging off her arm is _hers._ Damon spins a bit under the weight of that; his right hand clutches the edge of the _Fresh Fruit and Veg_ table.

“Relly,” Bonnie says softly, “this is Damon. Mommies friend.” She looks up, shy and _isn’t is crazy, how abruptly the past can crash into your present?_ “Damon, this is my baby girl.”

“I’m not a baby! I’m _five_.” The kid protests, bottom lip jutting out indignation.

He’s fascinated by her fingers, how delicately they twirl the coils of the – _her_ \- little girl’s hair.

“My _big_ girl,” Bonnie corrects with a teasing smile and he should probably speak again now, shouldn’t he? There are words tumbling around his mind but nothing makes sense and there is still so much space between them, crates of tomatoes and potato spuds.

It’s been six years since he’s seen that smile.

“Why are you both just _staring_?”

Nervous laughter escapes, from both, and the kid’s brow deepens, darting between them, trying to understand something that Damon is scared to comprehend himself. An older lady shuffles down the aisle, momentarily breaking their view, and Bonnie laughs again, in the awkwardness; it’s wonderful, he’s _missed_ her – all of her.

“Mommy,” she whispers (the kind only kids use – barely a decibel above normal speech), “I think you should give him a hug.”

And it’s like a damn piano plays on his heart when Bonnie looks at him. The kid tugs her hand, taking the lead across the shiny floor until she’s in front of him, just like that, here again. Damon takes a breath and pulls her into his chest; Bonnie breathes too, falls onto her tiptoes to hang off his neck.

He wants to say, how are you, you smell different, _don’t let go_, but all that comes out is “Hey Bon-bon.”

When they pull away her eyes are marbled, glossy – she blinks and threads, again, her fingers through her daughter’s hair. “You look good. Human… it looks good on you.”

Damon resists reaching for her again. “Weird hearing a heartbeat, huh?”

“Weird seeing you at all.”

“Touché.” He glances at the little girl tucked behind Bonnie’s leg because _now _she’s shy. “Would you like to come over for tea?”

Bonnie looks as surprised as he feels. “Tea? Who are you and what have you done with Damon Salvatore?”

His mouth kicks up – he’s forgotten how it used to do that.

“I’m changed man. Literally.”

She chuckles then, it’s warming. “Tea sounds nice. We’d like that.”

* * *

He promises to meet them by his car: “Is it the same one?” “The Camaro? Of course.” He piles his groceries in the back and leans against the trunk, unable to talk the smile off his face. They stumble out the glass doors, Bonnie laden with bags, and he animates, rushing to lift the shopping onto his shoulder.

“I’m not used to seeing you so chivalrous,” Bonnie jokes, her free hand clasping around the girl’s.

“What does shifulrus?” she questions, before he can remark.

Bonnie pushes the hair out of her daughter’s face. “You know those Princess books we like to read? Well, the Prince in them is always very chivalrous.”

“So,” her tiny face twists, “He’s like your prince?”

“Who?”

And Damon feels another tug on his pant leg as the girl says, “_Him_.”

There’s a painfully awkward moment, one that would, _back then_, be filled with an eyeroll, but Bonnie suddenly can’t look at him and Damon feels too guilty about how far removed from that moniker he really is.

Luckily for them, kids move on quickly, immune to unexplained tension. “What’s your name again?”

“Damon.” He yanks open the trunk and places their shopping next to his, the space looking smaller than it has in years. “And yours?”

“Amaryllis,” she says proudly. “But mommy calls me Relly.”

He glances at Bonnie above the girl’s head. “Like the flower?”

Her mouth indents at the corners. “Like the flower.”

The unspoken is punctuated by Amaryllis’ dramatic sigh. “Mommy, can we go? I’m _hungry_.”

“Yup,” Bonnie rouses, “Stay here with Damon, I’ll go get your car-seat.”

He stares at the kid with mild horror – Amaryllis just beams at him, like he’s the damned entertainment at a birthday party.

“Can I ask you something?”

The hands on her hips unsettles him. “Um, sure.”

“Why did your mouth go like this-” she drops her jaw into an ‘O’ – “when you saw Mommy?”

_Well, aren’t you perceptive? _Like mother, like daughter, he thinks, and smiles at the little Bonnie, their shared bossiness.

“Because I hadn’t seen Bon- your mom – in a while. I was surprised.”

She chews on her lip, digesting his answer, deciding if it qualifies. _Saved by the bell._ Bonnie calls her name and she turns, eyes widening.

“Cuddles!” She squeals, jumping up and down at the bear in tucked in the crook of Bonnie’s arm.

“Is that… _The_ Miss Cuddles?” He asks with a quirk of his lip, watching the kid squeeze the life out of the bear in delight.

“The one and only,” Bonnie says dryly, “She found her when she was two and hasn’t been able to part with it.”

_Two. _And it hurts suddenly, watching this little girl, already so big, so _Bonnie_, because he missed it all. Where does she live? Has Caroline met her? Who’s her _dad_? That one makes him pivot to Bonnie, mouth laden with questions.

She senses it, he can tell, her eyes dim and the shake of her head is barely perceptible. _Not now. Later. _

And, understanding, he speaks to the little girl smoothing Miss Cuddles’ fur. “Amaryllis, are you ready to have a ride in the _greatest_ car in the world?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do we think? I can feel the angst already. Next chapter will be in Bonnie’s point of view.


	6. Amaryllis (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back in England and ready to continue this story. As one lovely reader commented, Damon was not prepared to fall in love with a five-year-old.

He _looks_ human. She wasn’t sure if that was even possible, vampires blending into the world’s fabric unnoticed, but with Damon, it’s in his eyes. The icy blue has softened into something sky-like, searching, unclouded by hunger and impulse.

The man tilts his head to her stare and Bonnie flits upwards, glancing in the rear-view mirror at her chatting five-year-old, throwing her legs like she’s on a swing. _Relly’s as fascinated by him as me. _Age has begun to assert itself in the corners of his eyes, somehow making him even more handsome. The phrase like fine wine comes to mind and she frowns inwardly at her superficiality. How ridiculous to come home, unannounced, to just admire the face she’d kidded herself she’d forgotten?

Bonnie waits for a lull in her daughters’ monologue. “I didn’t expect you to still be here.”

Her words make his hands sigh against the steering wheel; his eyes flicker in tentative pain. “I tried leaving. Many times.”

“But?” she prompts.

Damon shakes his head, “It sounds stupid but leaving felt like I was forgetting him.”

“Stefan.”

He exhales in answer. “This is our home.”

Bonnie shifts to the window – the dull buzz of main-street fading into suburbs, forest, where she laughed, cried, lost, loved, _died_. There are pieces of her all over this town.

“Who’s Stefan?”

They share a smile at Relly’s perpetual curiosity. Bonnie’s loves that about her – the world is too rich and hidden to not want more.

“Stefan’s my brother,” Damon answers, and there’s honour in his voice.

Her next question is anticipated but no less painful. “Is he having tea with us?”

She readies the words to tell her daughter another person she loved _isn’t here anymore_, winces in the inevitable _why, mommy._ It’s always quiet and hurt like the person left because they didn’t want to meet _her_, the best thing she’s ever done, her little world.

“Stefan’s actually on a very brave adventure right now,” Damon says instead.

“Oh,” Relly chews on her lip, “Do you miss him?”

“All the time.”

And Bonnie reaches over to Damon’s lap, the hand lying limp atop his leg, and squeezes warm, pulse fuelled fingers. He tenses like someone hasn’t held his hand in a while.

She knows he’s aching to ask the question – how he looks at her baby girl and sees a half of someone he doesn’t know. But she’s not ready yet. Maybe it’s selfish but she wants to be Bon-bon again.

Even if just for a day.

* * *

They rattle over the gravel to Amaryllis’ sudden intake of breath. “Mommy this is a _castle_.”

Bonnie laughs in agreement, “It’s definitely a big house.” She glances at the man pulling the car into park. “Is Elena here?”

Like Damon, she’s been holding onto a question and that was hers. The last thing she heard was that the brunette was in London for work, she’d assumed that he had followed, as he had always done, Elena his life-line.

“She’s in London,” Damon says simply, hooking a finger around the door handle and swinging out onto the drive.

“And you…?”

He smiles at her over the roof of the Camaro, sad and weighted, “Mystic Falls is where I’m meant to be.”

The Salvatore Boarding House had always been occupied with guests both welcomed and unwanted, now it’s just him. Her eyes sweep over its vastness then Damon, suddenly so human, and he says, “I’ve been alone for over a century, Bon, six months isn’t a big deal.”

“Are you okay?” she asks without thinking but he doesn’t respond. She hears the shopping bags being lifted out of the trunk and onto the gravel and unbuckles Relly’s seatbelt.

Her daughter pulls on her t-shirt, lifting her mouth to Bonnie’s ear, her breath hot and tickly, “Why is Damon sad?”

She curves a hand over Relly’s cheek, pushing the curls away from her forehead. Her sweet, caring, little girl. “We’ll cheer him up, don’t you worry.”

Relly beams and wiggles to be free of the car seat, hopping out of the Camaro with a slam of her new sneakers. They light up on impact – tiny stars barely luminous in the bright morning sun. They were a bribing present: _come with Mommy on a trip across the country, we’re going to stay in the empty house that belonged to Mommy’s Gram’s. _

Driving the rental car past the ‘Welcome To Mystic Falls’ sign was like entering into a black and white photograph; you know it _did_ happen but the past feels too disconnected to the present, it’s like you’re not even there.

Only when she saw Damon gaping at her in the fruit and veg aisle did the colours come pooling in.

“This is much bigger than me and Mommy’s house,” Relly announces.

Bonnie feels suddenly nauseous at Damon’s quirked brow, afraid of what her daughter might say.

“Mommy sleeps in the living room when Daddy-”

“Relly?”

“Hm?” Her daughter falls back into step – well, skip – with her mother.

Bonnie can see the cogs whirring in Damon’s brain. “That’s enough, please.”

“I was just going to tell him about my Princess bed,” she sulks, dragging her feet over the stones and carving a trail.

“A _Princess_ bed?” Damon calls, turning from the key in the front door and her daughter’s lip retracts a little.

“It’s pink and has a curtain,” she begins, rushing up to meet him at the wooden porch. The lock clicks and he pushes on the door, exposing the dark beams of a hallway Bonnie hasn’t entered in six years.

“A curtain?” Damon probes but Relly is too busy gazing at the extravagance of the Boarding House, her little mouth hung ajar.

She remembers the first time she stumbled into the vampire brothers’ home, her expression much the same, albeit more fearful.

Damon shifts awkwardly on his feet – it’s an action that looks so uncomfortable on the once brooding vampire that Bonnie smiles without thinking.

He drags a hand along the back of his neck, “I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Mommy,” Amaryllis breathes, eyes trained on the staircase in delight, “I want to play hide and seek.”

She glances at the open kitchen door, the clatter as he begins to put their shopping in the fridge, and feels dizzy. “You want to go and explore?”

Relly nods fervently.

“Okay, but if I call you downstairs, you come, yeah?”

Her daughter throws her thumb in the air then darts into the living room, skirting her hand over the red couch to reach the staircase. And if it wasn’t for the running five-year-old, the Boarding House looks exactly as she left it.

Bonnie releases a breath and walks to the kitchen door, knocks lightly on the wood, and smiles again at Damon’s twitch in surprise.

“It’s nice to see you jumpy for once,” she comments, joining him on the floor to put the milk away.

Damon brushes her arm as he reaches for the shelf. “Sorry,” he says quickly, as if touching her is wrong now. “Where’s Amaryllis?”

He says her name delicately, it’s pretty, it’s always been a pretty name but with Damon, the syllables are softer somehow. Bonnie watches the veins in his arms tense under the crate of beer: everything about him is softer.

“She’s exploring. Sorry, I probably should have asked you first.”

“I don’t mind.”

They’re both saying sorry for the wrong things, it’s treading on egg shells. So many elephants in the room that neither can breathe quite right.

A clatter from upstairs makes her freeze, eyes barrelled in sudden fear. Damon animates first, dropping the last of the shopping and hurrying out in the hallway.

She follows him up the stairs, comforted by the lack of wailing that usually accompanies her daughter’s falls. Damon yanks open the door to Stefan’s room.

“I didn’t mean to,” Relly rushes, staring at the collapsed pile of diaries then back at Damon. The man just blinks at the mess, almost stunned. “Don’t be angry,” she whispers into his silence.

“Relly, it’s okay.” Bonnie nudges past him, holding out her hand to lead her little girl out of the bedroom. Damon’s still staring – the dust the journals have thrown up dancing in the air around his face. “Let’s go play downstairs, okay?”

She nods, looking back at Damon in fear. “He’s angry at me, isn’t he?”

And Bonnie hates _him_, the man that made her daughter feel like this; made her look at another man with frozen eyes and recoiled hands, hands she’s learned to clasp over her ears when he shouts too loud, when mommy shouts back.

“He’s not angry, baby,” Bonnie says softly, “He just hasn’t been in that room for a while.”

This seems to soothe her and she hops off the last step and flings herself on the couch, thumb in mouth. “Can I have some food now, mommy?”

“Sure, stay here, okay?”

She notices the photograph when she’s by the fridge a second time – searching for some jelly to put in Relly’s PB&J sandwich. It’s her – younger and scowling at _him_, a leather clad Damon Salvatore, mouth thrown open in a laugh. There’s a picture of Stefan too, on his wedding day, holding hands with Caroline whilst she grins in the background, bouquet thrust in the air. Both are flattened by magnets, the corners folded from age.

The guilt swells so violently she has to look away.

It had felt easy to leave, that’s the worst part. Packing a bag and slamming her passport on the security desk, _Where to? Anywhere._ Stefan was dead, Caroline had the girls, Damon had Elena. With Enzo’s ghost curled in her left hand, she boarded a plane and refused to look out the window at shrinking Virginia.

She Face-Timed Caroline once every few months and they’d talk about Stefan, how they never realised he was the once tying everyone together. Their lives whirred and Caroline moved to live near Rick and Bonnie boarded more planes and Damon… he was Elena’s.

One evening in Paris she clicked on the brunette’s name, secretly hoping she’d hear him, maybe that he’d grab the phone and sing her name in that way she pretended not to love. All these secrets – when she hung up, she promised herself to move on.

Sudden laughter interrupts her thought and she grabs the plate and nudges open the kitchen door. Across the hall her daughter is spinning, hanging off Damon’s shoulders as she squeals and screams and almost passes out from giddiness.

“Mommy- I’m- flying-” she splutters between laughs, gripping the top of the man’s head in terror.

“Damon, careful!” Bonnie’s maternal instinct lurches but she can’t help but laugh too.

“Okay, okay, fun police,” he says and slows to a halt much to Relly’s groan.

“Again, again. _Please_.”

“Sorry, kid, I’ve got to stay in Mom’s good books.” And the wink he throws Bonnie’s way is so _Damon_, she wonders how she survived for six years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be two more parts to this mini-series, I think. Please do review!   
You can also send me prompts for future one-shots over on tumblr: perpetualimaginings


	7. Amaryllis (III)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! My final year of university has begun, and life is so hectic… HOWEVER, I really wanted to squeeze in a chapter for you all.   
Thank you to all your reviews and support. To all the kind souls that have bought me a coffee – it means more than I could ever express to get paid for doing the thing that brings me the most joy.   
Sorry this update is short, but I hope you can understand my circumstances. Student life is constant fatigue lol.

He’s not sure how one day he was sitting alone on the couch, pretending not to be lonely, and the next, he’s sharing it with a slightly precocious five-year-old. Still, stranger things have happened.

Damon glances up from his newspaper – at her tongue kicked up in concentration, the woman turning the pages and whispering sentences in silly voices – _liar_, he thinks. The second the kid asked for button squash and Bonnie Bennett smiled like he was the magic she lost when she saved their asses, he knew. Life just changed.

It’s just surprising that she stayed. It wasn’t intention; it just happened. Amaryllis had fallen asleep on the couch, her legs splayed like she owned the place. _Like mother, like daughter._

“I didn’t realise how late it was,” Bonnie yawned, “I’ll carry her to the car.”

“You don’t have to,” he hurried, like keeping them there was the most important thing. It kinda was.

Bonnie frowned, “No, that’s too much-”

He didn’t know how to say the Boarding House is so fucking _empty_ without them – all of them, even Bonnie and her eye rolls and sarcasm (the fluttery things he sometimes felt). Elena never irritated him like that.

“Bon,” he interrupted, “I’ve got a million spare rooms. It will be nice to have the company.” He added that last bit with a shy smile and she sunk against the cushions in acquiescence.

“She won’t sleep in her own room.”

“You can both take the room next to mine. It’s the biggest.”

Bonnie smiled in thanks. “Just for tonight though. That’s all.”

Damon shrugged.

Yet, six evenings later, Bonnie’s stopped extending her stay with a comment and just excepted she’ll sleep with her daughter in the King bed a wall away from his. He holds his breath every time the kid yawns, waits for her to say they’ll go back home tonight.

She sighs now, snuggling against Bonnie’s chest, her eyelids dropping with the weight of consciousness. Damon’s tired too. They’d driven further today – to the city zoo – and the persistency of Amaryllis’ demand for attention is _exhausting._

“Damon, why is that lion doing that?”

“Oooo I love monkeys. Damon, what’s your favourite animal?”

“Why not a monkey? Do you not like monkeys?”

“Damon, please can I have an ice cream?”

“Noooo, don’t ask mommy. She won’t say yes.”

“_Damon_, listen.”

A week later and she’s still curiously trying to unpick the inner depths of his mind and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

“You tired, Relly?” Bonnie murmurs, winking at Damon over the top of Amaryllis’ curls.

“No,” she says stubbornly.

“Damon’s tired aren’t you, Damon?”

He nods, faking a yawn (which turns into a very real one). “Soooo tired.”

The kid squints at him. Damon curves a brow.

“I am a _bit_ tired,” she admits.

“Good, because it’s bedtime missy,” Bonnie pats the kid’s thigh, “Up you get. Say goodnight to Damon.”

The goodnights are shy, brown eyes peering at him from under lashes, the sleeve of her poor Frozen pyjamas getting ravaged by tiny teeth. “Night,” she mumbles.

“Goodnight,” Damon says back, just as awkwardly.

Bonnie waves her hand and Amaryllis fits into it like a puzzle piece, mini Bonnie, just as sassy, just as cute. _Cute. Is he allowed to say that?_

He resumes reading his article.

_Fuck, this town is boring without vampires. _

Fifteen minutes later, the floorboards croak: Bonnie’s finished bedtime. There’s always the pleasant moment when he hears her padding down the stairs in a pair of his old slippers, Amaryllis under the covers, knowing she’ll curl on the armchair opposite him and smile like she still can’t believe she’s here and he’s there.

She reaches for the glass of gin and tonic he’d made for her and takes a long, contented sip.

“Nice?”

“Necessary.” Her tongue swipes along her bottom lip, not that he’s watching. “Thanks for today, by the way.”

Damon rustles the paper into a fold. “Believe it or not, I’ve always wanted to visit the zoo.”

“I’m surprised you hadn’t before. Compelling yourself entry and all – that place was _expensive_.”

“Not so much fun on your own,” he says dryly but there’s a heaviness neither expected.

“_Damon_,” Bonnie says quietly.

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“I could have called.”

“So could I.”

She picks at the loose thread on her pyjama bottoms, twirling the length around her finger, tugging to break the bond. “I know it’s unfair not telling you.”

He doesn’t need to ask _what_: that clutters around his mind every time he sees the kid laugh or scrunch her nose or tug on his jeans.

“I just,” she exhales, long and shaky, “I don’t know _how_.”

“I only care if you’re happy, Bonnie, that’s all.”

And this makes her laugh. It’s strained and choked and her winces in the sound. He waits, he doesn’t know how long, it doesn’t matter, only that he waits, and, sometime that night, she speaks:

“I was sad. And drunk. I can’t even remember what city I was in. Somewhere in Europe. He was American and travelling, like me, and we danced together in some seedy bar. The music was so bad, I remember that, but he made me feel warm. I was still seeing Enzo at this point, I could feel him watching me dance in the corner of the room. I know what you’re thinking – I slept with him that night and got pregnant. Some part of me wishes I had.

He got my number and we spoke every day, on the phone, for almost two weeks. It was so _nice_, Damon, Enzo was so cold and you were…. I liked him. A lot. He was human and didn’t know about my ridiculous past and what I’d lost. By the end of the month, I’d met him again. I flew back to America, went to stay with him in Atlanta. I never noticed how much he drunk until we were back in the US. There wasn’t music to dance to or beaches to laugh on, just me in a stranger’s home. I tried to leave but Relly. She was growing and for a few months he changed, brought me flowers, took me to dinner. Caroline even met him, just once, she said she was happy for me. I didn’t tell her about the other nights.

We don’t live together anymore. When Relly was almost three, I moved out. He was nicer at weekends – he brought her gifts and took her to soft play. It was only when the alcohol kicked in that he’d shout and try to stay the night.”

By this time, Damon was almost shaking, his pallor paled, fingers curled into his palm. “He hurt you.”

“Not physically.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s complicated,” she shuts her eyes, speaking as though it pained her, “Because you were happy.”

“But_ you_ weren’t! The person who deserved it the most!”

“I wasn’t _not_ happy. He got better. We had a good couple of years before Relly got sick and the medical bills came through. Then, he started drinking again.”

“_Bonnie_.”

“What were you going to do, Damon? Pin him against the wall like you were a vampire again? Threaten his life?”

He wants to. He wants to hunt him down and kill the bastard. “I could have been there for you.”

She searches for more thread to pull at. “It was my mess.”

And that pisses him off. “When are you going to realise that your mess is our mess? All of ours!? You could have been in fucking Timbuktu and I would have come if you needed me.”

Bonnie stills, blinking at the garish owl motif on her pyjama pant, like it holds all the answers. “Maybe I didn’t want anyone to know,” she says eventually, unable to look at him.

Damon’s forehead creases, “Why not?”

“Because I was embarrassed!” Her words come out louder than either of them anticipated. Bonnie groans and runs a hand over her eyes, like she wasn’t supposed to admit that.

“Bon?” he probes softly.

“I wanted her to have a better life than mine. Something more than disappoints and trying to be brave all the time,” when she looks at him, her eyes are glassy, “What had I given her? A list of dead relatives and a shitty dad?”

Damon crosses the rug separating them. There isn’t enough room for him on the armchair so he crouches at her feet and touches her leg and tells her, it’s okay, she’ll be okay, he’s sorry, sorry for all the times he made feel anything less than family.

Bonnie cries silently and that hurts more. Anger rises in flames, licking at his chest, his throat, his mind, until he’s holding her hand through a thin layer of crimson. It’s the colour that would precede the fangs, the veins, the monster.

“I should never have let you go,” he mutters, more to himself than her but Bonnie’s head snaps up.

“No, _no_, I can’t regret it. He gave me my little girl,” her eyes flutter close and she speaks like a prayer, “My saving grace.”

This only makes him shudder. _How can a man be anything but the dad that kid deserves? _

“_Mommy_.”

“Was that…?”

Damon straightens to touch a hand to her shoulder; his fingers are brushing a tear off her cheek before his brain assesses the risk. “I’ll go,” he says simply.

Surprise flickers in those green eyes he’d forgotten how much he’d missed. “Are you sure?”

“If I need you, I’ll call.”

He leaves her nestled into the crook of the chair, watching him with a soft, unbidden, gaze as he ascends the stairs.

“Mommy,” Amaryllis calls to the footsteps. Her face crumples when Damon toes open the door. “Where’s mommy?”

“She’s downstairs having a sleep,” he hesitates on the threshold, terrified suddenly of scaring her, of being _him_, “Do you want me to get her?”

Her lip trembles but she shakes her head, pushing herself back down under the covers so that only her face is visible, her dark curls a halo. “I had a scary dream.”

“That’s okay,” he says carefully, taking it as his cue to enter. “Dreams aren’t real.”

This seems to only upset her more, little fingers clutching at the duvet. “I don’t want to go to sleep again.”

He’s way out of his depth here, comforting a child about scary dreams of monsters that he knows first-hand exist. _Hell,_ he’s probably made cameos in several nightmares before. “What was scary about your dream?” he tries.

Amaryllis shakes her head. “Can’t say.”

“Why not?”

“Mommy won’t let me.”

And Damon understands. _That fucking dick._ He blows breath onto his fringe, reminding himself to be present. The kid needs him _now._

“Can you stay?” she says quietly.

“Until you fall asleep?”

She nods.

“Er, okay.” He shuffles onto the other pillow, legs stretched three times the length of hers, hands clasped atop his chest. “Like this.”

“Yes.”

“And you-”

“Sh!”

His mouth curves with a smile. “Alright, alright, bossy boots.”

In the darkness, Amaryllis releases a tired giggle. “That’s what Mommy always calls me.”

“Huh, that’s weird.”

Another breath. “Why?”

And Damon’s face shifts with the grin, “Because your mommy is the bossiest person I know.”

Her giggle dissolves and he tilts his head on the pillow: the kid out like a damned light. He doesn’t move though, something about needing to be there if she wakes up again, to show her not all men are like her daddy – his bloody past pushes a bile-like guilt up this throat – or at least, not all men stay like that.

“Sweet dreams, kid,” he whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure when I’ll be able to update again but please know that this story (and other one shots) are on my mind. A review would be so appreciated: let me know what you liked, what you think will happen, what you want more of. I’ve planned a final instalment to this little narrative that I’m hoping will be a tearjerker.   
(Because someone asked, I will say again that my ko-fi page is wavesketcher. Alternatively, there is a link in my tumblr bio: perpetualimaginings)   
Merci!


	8. Amaryllis (IV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Uni has just been a whirlwind but not writing feels wrong. Creating these stories for you all has been such a privilege; thank you for all your support. Apologies if I seem a bit rusty – it’s been a while since I wrote creatively, especially as Damon/Bonnie.   
A short update for obvious reasons. This is the penultimate instalment of Amaryllis but don’t worry, I have a lot of other one-shot ideas to come (and am very open to requests too!). Follow me on tumblr for updates: perpetualimaginings

Sometimes, when it’s dark outside and her thoughts collect under the moon, she thinks about how she got here. _All_ of here. From normal to supernatural, from student to Witch, from lonely to mother – in the warm light of the Salvatore kitchen, Relly is perched on the counter-top as Damon cooks – from enemy to best friend, best friend to… here.

She’s extended her stay for two weeks now; it feels right. Most of the time. It’s only when he bends his head to smile at her with more than his smirk that she feels like a fraud, a thief. Taking something that should have been Elena’s. It’s then she needs space – the air turning crisp, the night tilting into silence.

Bonnie twists again to the Boarding House light. The window is shut but she can practically _see_ her daughter’s giggle, a spoon hanging off the former-vampire’s nose, eyes drawn inward in a stupid face.

_You’re not making this easy, Damon Salvatore. _

“_Mommy_, dinner’s ready!” Damon holds Relly steady as she swings suddenly out the window, welcoming Bonnie back to the present. _Like coming home. _

“Coming,” she sing-songs in response, nods in thanks to the moon and crunches over the gravel to Damon’s cooking and teasing and loving.

_Is it okay if a little bit of me can imagine staying here? _

“In the dining room, Bon!”

_How about a lot of me?_

Relly’s tongue is just visible above her lip as she lays the table. When she places the fork where the knife should be, Damon prods her gently, a whisper in her hair.

“Sit _down_, Mommy!” She orders.

“You Bennetts,” Damon exhales, “Always so bossy.” A dish towel is flung over his right shoulder and it’s embarrassing how attractive Bonnie finds the sight. It’s an image lodged in the pre-death part of her mind – before her life peeled apart and she was magic and a weapon and had more important things to think about than what her husband would look like cooking for their family.

“You okay, Bon?”

She blinks and blows hot breath on her chilled hands. “Hungry.”

“Good because I have prepared a banquet fit for a Queen and a Princess,” he winks.

“Daddy calls me Princess,” Relly says brightly but the light fades and she frowns, breaking Bonnie’s heart a little, “But not very soon.”

Damon’s hands tighten around the dish, the blue of his eyes hardening, and if he wasn’t human, Bonnie would be bracing to pacify the vampire. His reaction stalls her response momentarily before she snaps into Mom mode with the sole goal of ensuring her baby knows her fucking _perfect_ she is.

“You’re _way_ cooler than a Princess, Relly,” she begins, flicking to Damon for assistance (to Relly, his word is sacred). “Princess’ don’t get to _fly_.”

“Your Mom’s right,” Damon affirms, placing the lasagne on the table and wiggling the chair next to Relly out of its place. “Princess’ are pretty but I know something much prettier and cooler _and_ it can fly.”

“What?” Relly breathes, wide eyed in the promise of his fantasy.

The former vampire twists to Bonnie but she just shakes her head, just as intrigued. “Go on.”

“Um… yeah… a fairy queen?”

And she has to laugh, the once big-bad vampire and his adorable attempt at cheering her daughter up.

Relly scowls at Bonnie’s snicker before addressing Damon. “Do fairy queens have a wand?”

“For magic?”

“Yes! Turning people into frogs and… making milkshakes!”

“Milkshakes!?”

Relly giggles, “One million hundred milkshakes.”

“One million _hundred_!?”

His mouth is tilted in that same goofy smile he wore when she came back from the Prison World, what’s she’s come to recognise as happiness – what’s come to make her happy too. He was her best friend and she was selfish. Watching Elena, watching _him_ watch Elena, it hurt when, _where_, it wasn’t supposed to, when she was mourning Enzo, where she was leaving for her own adventure (not to escape the impossibility of the one she couldn’t have, but might’ve, wanted).

“Magic, Damon. It can do anything.”

And he pulls away from her daughter, goofy smile dissolving into something that flutters her heart. “I know, Bon-bon,” he says softly, “I’ve seen you.”

* * *

Elena calls him when they’re at the park. He lets it ring, silencing the ringtone and slipping his cell face down back in his jean pocket.

“Damon! Push me on the swing!”

“Sorry, I’m on it,” he hurries, unable to shake the frown out of his words, off his face. Elena never calls, the last contact they had was one month ago – sorting out bills and car insurance.

“Faster!” Amaryllis demands.

“Okay but hold on tight? Bonnie wasn’t happy when I brought you home with a graze yesterday.”

“I ammmmm. Just moreeee.”

He’d called Elena the evening before the grocery shopping, before Amaryllis clattered into his life… before Bonnie began laughing in his thoughts again. She hadn’t picked up. Obviously. Their love had faded and neither of them knew why. Liquored up, he wondered if it was ever really there.

Damon pushes the little girl through the air a few more swings before he realises, he’s irritated by the woman’s intrusion. The last few weeks of mornings he’s woken up _happy_ – Elena’s absence swallowed by a little girl in Frozen pyjamas and her little Mama (he’s wanted to call her that for days now – the name dangling on his tongue, daring to earn him an eyeroll) cooking up breakfast. It’s what he’s thought human would look like. Not 1864 with his curled hair and waist coats and an empty hole he believed Katherine could fill. _Happy_ human.

“Oh _shit_.”

“Did you just say a bad word?”

“I saw a ship.”

“No, you didn’t. We’re at the _park_.”

Maybe this has always been dormant? Maybe the whole fine line between love and hate bullshit has some weight? Maybe Stefan was right that one time he mentioned it? Maybe he’s been waiting for her the last six years? Maybe that’s why he and Elena drifted apart… and why _she’s_ in his kitchen now, reading a trashy magazine and eating the overpriced cashews she persuaded him to buy?

_Shit. _

He flexes his palms on Relly’s back, sending her whizzing through the air with a squeal.

_I’m in love with your Mommy, kid. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last chapter of this series, my friends. Hope this itty bitty one was okay. Please do leave a review.


	9. Amaryllis (V)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not super happy with this chapter but really wanted to get the last one uploaded. I’ve had this ending in my head since the beginning.   
Thank you endlessly for the reviews and coffees. I feel so lucky!

_Six months ago._

“Elena…” It was the fourth time he’d said her name – left it hanging there, down the line, over the miles. “You _know_ it hasn’t been working. We can pretend but,” he groaned, dragging a hand down his face in the reflection. He looked haggard: humanity and arguments in the lines around his face, the pale hollowness of his under eyes.

“I thought you were figuring things out? That’s why you left.”

Damon winced at the frailness of her voice. “I did leave to figure things out, Elena, but I shouldn’t have had to. It should be enough to just be there…” He let ‘with you’ drop into silence, the insinuation palpable – stiffening in a tension that made him pull the phone away from his ear.

“So, this is it,” she said at last.

“_Surely _you saw this coming?”

“I know we’re not the same as we were Damon,” a tired laugh, an exhale, “I stopped waiting for you to propose a year ago.”

“I’m sorry,” he told her. There was nothing else, and he was.

“Me too.”

The line died and his reflection began to cry. He was alone. Mystic Falls was all cobwebs of their old life now – even Matt had fucked off to Washington or somewhere, fell in love, probably had a blonde-blue eyed kid running about.

“Fuck you, Stefan,” he croaked like he did sometimes when he was angry at him, the martyr. “Look at the sad shit you sacrificed yourself for?”

Their wedding photo smiles on the mantel piece – Stefan and Caroline, him and Bonnie. He cried for his once best friend, then too.

“I’m a mess, Bon-bon,” he whispered at his hands, the familiar comfort of that nickname choking a little. He scrolled for her number and tapped before reason clawed him away. It rung twice – then a male voice.

“Who is this?”

“Is this not Bonnie’s-”

“Who the fuck are you?”

There was a scrabble and faintly, before the line clicked off and he was alone again, he heard her say his name. He imagined it; he was sure. Some sort of emotional crux, like when he hears Stefan. He deleted the number sat in the wine cellar, drinking Bourbon until his pathetic human body passed out.

* * *

Relly’s a little firecracker in the mornings, dancing and singing, her hair wild and untamed.

“Shh, crazy girl, you’ll wake Damon up.”

Her daughter puffs out her chest and yells: “Wake upppppp, Damon!”

“Relly!” Bonnie scolds but scoops her up and blows a raspberry on her stomach, eliciting even more noise.

Damon emerges zombie-fied, his hair nearly as big as Relly’s. “I didn’t realise I ordered a new alarm clock,” he grumbles, his voice thick with morning.

“You’ve naked,” Relly giggles and she’s trying, she really is, but Damon’s clearly kept in shape all these human years, the dips and curves of his torso just as she _definitely shouldn’t have_ remembered.

Damon’s eyes round. “Oh, right, yeah, sorry,” he hurries and falls back into his bedroom.

The differences between the arrogant _look at how hot I am_ vampire and the blushing, slightly awkward man sometimes startle her. That teasing, flirtatious smirk she’d accepted as his face comes in flashes – what’s taken residence recently is that goofy, love-sick grin directed at her daughter, maybe even at her. He’s happy and that makes her heart swell… and shatter because she hasn’t told him yet.

Fleeing Atlanta gave Bonnie her spirit back. She caught it in the air and it carried her home.

“Okay, I’m decent. Pancakes?”

Relly’s face splits into a grin, bouncing on the front of her toes, curls launching forward. Damon holds out his hand, Relly takes it, and the shy, pleased smile in his mouth is near-crippling.

It was always a return ticket. They left but like a damned elastic band, they have to spring back. Her work, Relly’s school, the smattering of friends she’s collected over the years… even her baby’s dad. One month. That’s all she’d stolen.

_Today, Bonnie_. But every morning this week she’s woken with this resolve, and every evening, when they’re curled in their respective chairs and his brow is furrowed above his glasses (his eyes have been giving him trouble recently) – she can’t do it. The words are there; they dissolve with the wink he offers before lifting the scotch glass to his mouth.

_“You shouldn’t drink so much,” she said last night instead. _

_“Shit, Bon, I’m so sorry.” He placed the glass on the table, eyes melting with concern. _

_“It’s okay, I know you’re not-” she swallowed, “I just mean for your health.”_

_Damon relaxed against the couch with her reassurance. “I’m cold, come and sit here.”_

_The words made her chest flutter. “Get a blanket.”_

_“You don’t want to **snuggle**?” He teased, smirk pushing against his mouth. _

_“When have we **ever **snuggled?” Bonnie eye-rolled, lifting the book to cover his frame. Something about the evening intensified his attractiveness, his smell, everything. Probably the low light – and the pink gin tingling about in her head. _

_“Wasted opportunity, if you ask me, Bon-bon.”_

_Bonnie turned the page. “You’re being very **Damon**, tonight.”_

_He laughed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”_

_“You know… vampire Damon,” she hesitated, “Flirty.”_

_“**Ah**.”_

_She lowered the book, risking a glance. The man wiggled his eyebrows like an idiot. Bonnie told him as such. _

_“You break my heart, you Bennetts.”_

_“Hmm, Relly told me she had to tell you off today.”_

_“Snitch,” he muttered and the loose smile in his words is something she’d never seen on her daughter’s dad._

_“Fine,” she snapped her book shut, “I’ll come and sit with you.”_

Maybe it’s selfish? Hiding her suitcase and boarding passes under the bed, pretending this isn’t just a dream and reality always comes knocking? It’s Friday now and they leave tomorrow. She just hasn’t been able to tell him – even last week – she couldn’t ruin it, give him, them, this _thing_ they’ve carved, a count down.

Because more than anything, she’s scared of what she’ll realise when she’s up in the air, Relly watching Disney movies beside her, princesses and princes falling love, happily ever after. She wants that for her baby girl… why can’t she risk it for herself?

* * *

“Damon do the teeth thing!”

“Ah, hear that Bon?” he shouts, “Your daughter _likes_ the squirty cream fangs.”

Relly’s tongue pokes out, tracing the motion, as he turns the blueberry smiles in vampires.

“Et voila.”

“Yay!”

“Don’t worry, yours are cream free,” he calls to the footsteps nearing the kitchen doorway, “Just blueberries for Miss-” He stops short at Bonnie’s face, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You look like you’ve been crying.”

Relly picks her head up to frown at the woman. “Mommy?”

“I’m fine, baby.”

_Liar. _Damon leaves the plate on the side and takes Bonnie arm, ushering her into the hallway, away from the kid. Only when Relly resumes chattering to herself does he speak, arms crossed, brow low. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, pulling away from his gaze, chasing the portraits of Salvatore’s past.

“Bonnie,” he tries again, softer, “Let me make this better.”

Her eyes brush close; a breath. “I should have told you weeks ago. I’m sorry.”

“Told me what?”

“My… the flight…”

And the little world they’ve built unravels. Just like that.

“When is it?” he says at last.

“Tomorrow.”

He’s staring at the spools of the last month, watching them tumble, taking the little girl, he’s grown to love, and the woman, he’s probably always, with it.

* * *

Their last day is happy, despite everything. A tender happiness, absent of too much eye contact or adult conversation but Relly is spoilt and tickled and loved and listened to until she’s a dead weight against Damon’s thigh.

She’s hurt him. She can see it in his gaze, the hand that picks at Relly’s hair, and Bonnie’s never felt more cruel, taking her from him… taking him from her.

“We’ll book another trip back soon. Maybe Easter or-”

“Does she know?” Damon interrupts.

“She knows it’s just a holiday. Not forever.”

“Yes, but does she know tomorrow?”

The word seems to tear in his mouth. “I told her this morning but I don’t think she understood. I think she thinks that you’re…”

Damon waits, eyes rounded, for Bonnie to finish. She doesn’t. She can’t.

“You’ll visit, right? I – we- both- want – need - you in our life now.”

He inhales, the air between them threatened by his next words. “Bonnie, I have to tell you something.”

“I know,” she breathes, “But you can’t.”

* * *

He doesn’t sleep that night, just lies coffin-like as he used to as vampire, time eating but never lessening. They’ll hug and he’ll want to kiss her but won’t, will want to tell her the thing she’s asked him not to, and won’t. Amaryllis will say something like ‘remember to watch Frozen, okay?’, which will make him laugh then but devastate him later when the house is empty and echoey and he’s wondering how he lost _literally_ everyone.

At six am, he pushes up from the covers to make them breakfast. He spends way too much time collecting random paraphernalia for a fairy-queen pancake, complete with cucumber stick wand. It looks shit and he walks to the trash can, flipping the lid to empty it in, pausing only when he hears the floorboards sigh.

“You made breakfast,” Bonnie says to the spread table, Amaryllis tucked behind her thigh, thumb in mouth.

“I did.”

He’s lost his appetite and so has the kid; she picks at the chocolate buttons of the crown, a pout pulling her face downward.

Damon taps her leg with his foot, “You all packed?”

She shrugs without looking at him.

“Relly,” Bonnie prompts but the girl’s frown deepens into a glare and she yanks her arm away.

_Me and you both, kid. _

At eight, he takes their cases from the spare bedroom and carries them to the front door. Amaryllis presents him a drawing – the three of them, Damon’s head stretched to monstrous size it’s comical.

“It’s beautiful,” he tells her and she barrels into his legs. He lifts his head to Bonnie but finds no words.

“Okay, baby, let Damon go.”

He sags without the grip of tiny hands holding him steady – forcing a smile into his gums, his eyes, as he says, “I’ll see you soon, I promise.”

And then it’s the Bonnie-goodbye. She folds around his neck, pushing onto her tiptoes to fit on his shoulder and they both inhale like idiots, too stubborn to say the right things.

“Eight years was too long,” she whispers.

He kisses her temple and they part. The door closes and Damon’s nails bite against his palms, fighting to yank it open again.

* * *

They’re barely five minutes down the road when Relly starts screaming. Bonnie fumbles in her rucksack for Miss Cuddles but her daughter flings the bear on the ground, shaking with fury and pain. Her face is scrunched tight, her breathing collecting into near retching and _nothing is making it stop._

“Relly, please, you need to calm down. I can’t drive with you like this.”

Her wails fight harder, pushing against her lungs like they did when she was baby. Bonnie blinks away her own tears. _Fuck it_, she thinks, and stops the car.

…

She doesn’t give Damon time to react, thrusting her daughter over the door-way and into his arms. “I’m sorry she won’t stop screaming. I think she just wants to say goodbye again and I didn’t know what else to do – she’s going to make herself throw up.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m here, it’s okay,” he whispers into her hair, rubbing circles over her shivering back. He glances at Bonnie in concern. She sags against the porch, eyes pulling shut.

“I don’t know how I’m going to do this.”

“Then don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t leave. Stay.”

Relly’s subsided to a gentle sobbing now, buried in Damon’s chest. “Damon, you can’t say things like that in front of her.”

“I’m not just saying things. I mean it. You said it yourself, you wanted things to be different for her… this is different,” he even smiles, _like it’s easy_, “This is good.”

And her voice halves. “I can’t risk it. What if one day you decide you don’t want to do this; you leave and it breaks her.” _Breaks me._

He shakes his head. “I’m never going to leave.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he shifts Relly onto one arm, reaching for Bonnie with the other, “I do. Bon, these last few weeks I’ve been the happiest I’ve ever been. Do you understand that? I’m _happy_.”

She wants to take his hand. She aches with the want. Relly tilts her head, pleading to her with raw eyes, “Mommy _please_.”

Bonnie shifts back to Damon, desperate. “How do we know if we’ll even work?”

“We were stuck together completely isolated for months-”

“That was then.”

“Well then we’ll _make_ it work,” he tells her, “We’ll make it work for Relly – I mean – Amaryllis.”

But she’s snuggling into his chest again, arms tight around his neck. Her little girl has never let anyone else call her Relly, not even her dad.

“This is crazy, Damon,” she says, softer.

His eyes twinkle, like he knows she’s melting, “You and I both know crazier things have happened.”

“But the flight?”

“Your excuses are getting weaker, Bon-bon,” he sing-songs and twirls from the doorway to retreat into the house.

“Damon, you can’t just abduct our child?” She finds herself laughing with the absurdity of the situation, only noticing the slip when he pivots to meet her stare, that _happiness_ glittering. The same she’d seen after she hugged him returning from the prison world (the first time she realised she might love him a little bit).

“Okay,” she says, more to herself than him, the former vampire now, much to Relly’s delight, pretending to be a dinosaur, “Okay, we’ll stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after. This may not be the last time we see this family… I just want to write a couple of other one shots first. Let me know if you’d be interested and please continue to review! Sorry for all the angst oop.   
The next one will be in response to a prompt so if you have ideas, keep them coming!


	10. What if?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the Guest for the prompt: what if Damon met Bonnie first, not Elena. This is a teeny tiny little piece but I hope you enjoy anyway. I love re-writing Delena scenes (or, should I say correcting lol).

v. What if?

_This is life_, he thinks, hands against damp tarmac, stare on the heavy moon, _waiting._ He’d kicked his shoes over street after street, humming the national anthem like a true patriot, and licking the dark lunch-stains from his lips, before deciding on this spot to lie plank-esque, his perfected killing trap. There is a wanton pleasure in his victims concerned faces hovering over his frame – the moral panic. _Adorable, really._

Damon flicks his eyes shut in the boredom, harnessing his hearing to pick up the rumble of a car.

“Elena, I’m fine. I just needed a walk… No, I’m not _drunk_, I’m-”

He’s sprung on his feet before the girl can finish her sentence. She laughs. _Unusual reaction. _

“Shit, you scared me,” She takes the phone from her ear and pushes it into her pocket, “You from the party?”

It isn’t often he lets them get the first word in, a scream maybe _sure_, if he’s feeling generous, but a question? Compulsion bites before small talk.

“Let me guess, beer in plastic cups, testosterone teenagers? Not really my scene.”

“Mine neither.”

Her gaze falls to the puddle between them and he has an unfamiliar urge to ask the girl her name.

“I’m Damon,” he offers instead.

She lifts a brow, it teases her face, soft, pretty. “Are you going to kidnap me, Damon?”

_Drunk. The liar. _His smirk pricks the corner of his mouth, “Lucky for you, I already have someone on my mind.”

“Well, that’s terrifying,” she says dryly, then, with a smile, “I hope she kicks you in the balls.”

“What’s your name?” he rushes, because she’s _intriguing_ him. Over a century on this earth has a way of dampening one’s curiosity – she’s different, refreshing.

“Bonnie. Bonnie Bennett.”

_Ah. That’s why. _Damon pushes the surprise into neutrality, “_Lovely_ to meet you, Bonnie Bennett.”

She laughs again, he even flinches at the lightness of it. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”

_There are some similarities, _he thinks, chasing the arcs of her features under moonlight, _definitely an Emily Bennett spark. _“Here, on the road, or here in life?”

“I don’t know,” she lifts her eyes to his, a falling motion that brushes like the heartbeat he no longer has. “Both, maybe?”

He’s going to have to use her. It’s almost sad, but he’s waited too long to let a witch with striking eyes prevent his chance of rescuing Katherine. He closes the distance, armed to compel, and –

“What do you want from life, Bonnie?”

She stills with his sudden proximity, but doesn’t retreat. The question is absorbed by her eyes, he sees it, a fluttering hope.

“I don’t know.”

_A second lie. _“Yes, you do. You know exactly what you want.”

Her voice lowers: “And what’s that, strange man in the middle of the road?”

_Just compel her, idiot. _But he can’t, not yet. He wants this moment – wants her to have it too. “You want everything. Every taste of life.”

“That sounds… overwhelming-”

“_Exciting_.”

And she smiles, made a little more alive in the promise. “Have you?”

“Have I what?”

Her brow curves again. “_Tasted _life?”

“Not quite,” he whispers and delivers the compulsion before she can ask what.

_I wouldn’t know, anyway. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think the ‘Not quite’ is true love. Yay for Bamon fulfilling that gap. Please review! Will be back soon with another, longer, one-shot…


	11. What if? (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hadn’t intended writing a second part but you guys asked, and I answered. (Also, need to rectify the small problem of witches not being able to be compelled... I thought that because Bonnie hasn’t come in to her powers yet, she could be. My bad!)   
Note: please remember Bonnie is younger here (think S1 Bon-bon) so her thought processes and reactions will seem more immature than the character we’re used to.

“Bonnie!” Elena bundles her into a hug, “I was worried!”

“I just wanted a walk,” she shrugs, offering a forced _and that was all_ smile.

“You okay? You seem kinda spaced out?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. How’s… the Matt situation?”

The brunette’s face twists, “Not great. I’ve called my parents to pick me up actually. You wanna come with?”

Bonnie shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I might try my shot with Devon,” she lies, looking over at the blonde by the pool table, who, until just a few minutes ago, was the most beautiful guy she’d ever seen.

“The senior?” Elena follows her gaze, “You and half the school.”

They laugh, a little strained, and her best friend tilts her head in that _there’s something you’re not telling me_ way. “You seem weird, Bon? Let’s both get out of here. Let my dad give you a lift.”

From behind them, a guy in a red polo yells _Beeeeeer Pongggg_ to a few cheers. Bonnie gestures towards his direction, “Thanks but I think I’m gonna try and show the boys up by playing.”

Elena’s mouth unhinges in protest and Bonnie says, “We still on for ice cream tomorrow?”

“It’s Saturday. Of course.”

They hug again and she waits until Elena is hidden by trees to walk the opposite direction to the cheering boys. She would have gone back to the road to find him, if Elena hadn’t been heading that way. _Will he find her too? Whisper that she wants ‘everything’? _The thought is unpleasant. Mystic Falls is a small town – very small – and its not often she stumbles across an unfamiliar face (especially a face that looks like _that_).

_“Go back to the party and forget ever meeting me. But remember that you want to taste life, all of it, because you do. You’re hungry.” _

His pupils had danced as he spoke, holding hers hostage, a blue flame. Then, he disappeared. Bonnie frowned, even called his name in her intoxication, but the mystery-guy was living up to his moniker. She traipsed back through the trees towards the music, head spinning, into Elena’s arms.

//

The living room light is on; her Gram’s flicking through a photo album.

“I didn’t think you’d still be up,” Bonnie offers as hello. She jumps at the album snapping shut.

“Something’s changed.”

Fighting the urge to eye-roll at her Gram’s spirit crap, she crouches on the floor to unzip her boots.

“What happened tonight?”

Bonnie pulls to free her foot from the shoe. “_Nothing_. I danced with Caroline and Elena?”

“You met someone.”

_Okay, that’s freaky. _“How did you know I-”

“What did he say to you?”

She straightens from the matt, her Gram’s grave expression unsettling. “This is really weird.”

“Answer me, Bonnie.”

“He… he said his name was Damon?”

“Did you tell him yours?”

“Yeah, I don’t-”

“And your last name?” the older woman interrupts again.

Bonnie cringes. “I think so.”

There’s a pause before her Grams asks, very calmly, “Did he tell you to forget him?”

And Bonnie’s pulse thickens, “Grams… what’s going on?”

“Did he tell you to forget him?”

She nods, near terrified now.

“Bonnie, come here,” the woman demands, holding out her hands towards her granddaughter.

“You’re scaring me.”

“Hold my hands.” Shaking, she walks towards the couch, and takes the cold fingers. Her Gram’s inhales, running a thumb over the skin. “I’m going to perform a memory spell-”

“_What!?_”

“I know you’re confused and scared but this Damon is not good, Bonnie. _Really_ not good,” her voice toughens, “I need you to forget ever meeting him.”

“By performing a _spell_?” She struggles against the grip on her hands, “Do you know crazy you sound?”

There’s a sad smile in her Gram’s next words: “When the time is right, you’ll understand. But for now, please, indulge me. You deserve to be a child a little longer, Bonnie… Close your eyes.”

“This is insane,” she mutters but closes them anyway, responding to the woman’s softened instruction.

The language that tumbles out of her Gram’s mouth tugs at her very veins, a sudden impetuosity that longs her mouth to echo. Her heart leaps in the strange warmth, their hands buzzing with some impossible energy, and then there’s Damon. He assumes the blankness of her mind, leaning towards her, whispering. His smirk pulling a smile from her lips. Bonnie wants him to take her hand, she tries, but he starts to evaporate into, or eaten by, a mist. She focusses on forcing his features back into place, reaching for the vapour to re-form the man but she’s forgetting what he looks like… forgetting… forgotten… she opens her eyes. Her Gram’s touches the damp beneath them.

“Why am I crying?”

She smiles. “It’s late, you should go to sleep.”

Bonnie frowns but nods, suddenly consumed by fatigue. “Yeah… night Grams.”

Her bed is strewn with potential outfit options and she sweeps the clothes onto the floor, unpeeling the covers to crawl inside. Sleep snatches without hesitation; the man waiting below her window smiles.

“See you in a few months, Bonnie,” he says to the night.

The front door unlatches, announcing the oldest living Bennett. “The spell is done,” she tells him, “She won’t remember.”

Damon thrusts his palms down his pant pockets. “You look like you have more to say.”

“I don’t trust you –”

“- Probably wise.”

“- But I expect you to keep to your word.”

The vampire’s cheek creases with his smirk, “Mystic Falls isn’t ready for a Salvatore return just yet.”

She nods and turns to re-enter the house. His gaze flies back up to the second-floor window, one last time.

“Don’t fall in love with her.”

Damon chuckles at the woman’s reappearance. “Couldn’t get enough?”

“I mean it,” she warns.

“Bonnie?” He blows out a breath, “_Relax_, my heart is already preoccupied.”

“She’s special.”

“I know,” he says without thinking.

The woman’s eyes widen. “You’ll hurt her.”

_I know. _“I hurt everyone. Don’t take it personally.”

“This isn’t a game, Damon.”

And he doesn’t push it. He’d heard the mini-witch call his name, blatantly uncompelled, cursed himself for being so stupid, and went to find a Bennett for his bidding. _Of course_, the granny was as hostile as her ancestors and gave him a nasty brain aneurysm the second she opened the door to him on her porch. Wisdom is knowing when to pick your battles, and he doesn’t fancy sprawling on the front lawn, mucking up his new denim. Besides, falling in love with a Bennett? He chuckles as he saunters down the street, destination _who the fuck cares_. Bonnie’s a pawn in his plan, nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, how wrong you are Damon. The whole last scene was a very spontaneous decision but Sheila Bennett is such a bad-ass I couldn’t resist. There won’t be anymore to this story – I really want to turn another idea I’ve had for a couple months into words.   
Requests are welcomed and reviews are encouraged.   
(My ko-fi page is wavesketcher for any generous souls. It is no exaggeration when I say that I dance around the room at the notification.)  
See you super soon!


	12. Stop all the Clocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea came to me a couple of months ago. It’s a little out there, very painful (pre-warning) but I was determined to flesh it out.   
Note: Set 60+ years after Elena was put under the sleeping curse (S6 finale).

vi. Stop all the Clocks

The church buzzes with colour: green hats, orange scarves, even a band. Damon glances down at his black suit. _No invite; how the hell was I supposed to get the memo? _Somewhere on the periphery is Caroline. Maybe. A lot of wood can graze the heart in sixty something years…_ and it only takes a particularly pointy one. _

“You want to sit down, young man?”

She shuffles along the pew, throwing him a wonky smile missing a few teeth. The musicians cease playing and the room vibrates with a low applause. _This is funeral for fucks sake. _At an angle, on the platform, is her picture – a woman he doesn’t recognise, lined and folded. There’s a laugh in her eyes he wants to believe is magic, _her_ magic, not humanity. The dying kind.

A man clears his throat: “Bonnie Bennett was a vibrant woman. Loving, joyful-”

And Damon turns from the old lady’s hesitant question and strides, like a fleeing bride, back up the aisle. Every head turns at the pressured groan of the doors; the dude in the blue shirt pauses his cookie-cutter lamentation. Damon’s fingers flirt on the handle. He twists his hand as the man introduces _Samuel Layton, Bonnie’s husband, prepared with a poem._

The outside wind is whipping itself into a panic. Damon inhales, air-starved, his pulse-less blood drumming. He needs to feed, distract himself from the Bonnie that isn’t Bonnie, dead, gone, the world emptied. What has he done for the last sixty years but lose himself in blood and women? What has she done but build a perfect, _normal _life?

Feeling nauseous, he lifts his chin to the pinkening sky. The church-yard graves only make him feel sicker, or worse, want to cry. And what kind of hypocrite would he be if he cried at the funeral of the woman he hasn’t bothered to see for the last six decades? Damon bends to sit on the last step of the church, the chorus of a gospel hymn vibrating through the wood. Like a man in worship, his eyes flutter close.

“Hey, stranger.”

Bonnie’s voice warms all of him; a smile loosens his frown.

“Open your eyes, silly.”

And there, arms draped over the railing, is his Bonnie Bennett, luminous, young again. The laugh that falls out of his mouth is delicate, almost dis-believing. _Almost._

“Did you forget I was a witch, Damon Salvatore?”

She’s so _beautiful_, his mouth just hangs ajar. Bonnie’s face breaks with a grin, “I’m glowing, aren’t I?” She unhooks from the railing, walking around the side to join him on the step, so close he could touch her. Bonnie notices the flinch of his fingers and sighs, “I can’t feel anything. I’m just between stages,” her gaze lifts to the sky, eyes closing like his had done, “Holding on until I have to let go.”

“How did you know I’d come?” He asks, his voice returning in careful syllables.

“I didn’t. But I had hope,” and her smile is one he can’t recognise, wise and forgiving, “I’ve always had hope, Damon.”

“I should have seen you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Her question is soft but it claws, unanswerable. “How long do you have?” He asks instead.

“Not long.” She searches his face so intensely he has to look away.

“You should be with your husband.”

Bonnie exhales in mist. “I’ve already visited him.”

“Like this?” he asks, gesturing at her golden-tinted youth.

“No…” she forces his eyes to hers, “He never loved this version.”

His next words fight for breath: “And I did?”

And Bonnie smiles like it’s too late. “Are you sad?” she says after a beat, continuing the dance of question after question. Answers too agonising.

This is what he’s waited for. Why he fell away. He needed to leave Bonnie behind, to prepare for losing her: so he could open his arms to the love of his life when she awoke calling his name.

“Yes,” he tells her.

“I’m not immortal. You knew this was going to happen.”

He wants to ask if she was happy with him, this Simon. Did she have children? Did she travel the world? Was it the world she dreamed about? He wants to ask and not know.

“Cheer up,” Bonnie says softly, “The rest of your life is starting today.”

The hymns have stopped; a solemn silence behind the doors, between them. The wind has settled now, merely flickering with the leaves on the ground, and he’s never wanted to hold her more.

“I know it’s selfish, staying here, keeping Elena from you… but… this is my last moment on earth, and in my eighty-four years of life, I’ve realised I deserve to be a little selfish sometimes.”

“You deserved more than all of us, Bon-bon,” he confesses, the nick-name surprising, not unpleasant. Wonderful, actually.

The woman hums in thought. “Simon tried to call me Bon-bon once. I didn’t let him.”

Ignoring the tumbling in his chest he says, “I assumed you hated me.”

Bonnie chuckles, “Oh, I did. I was furious, also with myself for letting you affect me so much. Then I just missed you.” Her eyes glimmer, “At one point I came to the terrifying conclusion that I must be in love with you.”

His mouth dries up, words thick in his gums. Bonnie pushes from the step to stand facing the graveyard. The slipping sun has warmed the world in fire-light – she is now the brightest thing, and probably always was, Damon can see.

“I should let you go,” she says without facing him, “Give Elena her life back.” Nothing he wants to do can be delivered in words and Bonnie speaks over his painful silence, “I like being this me, Damon. I like the me I am with you.”

_Stop. Please._

“Imagine if I didn’t leave… stayed this young me with glowing hands. I’ve died before and carried on living… what’s one more?”

There’s a humour to her words that only makes them heavier and Damon wants to scream, turn back time, grab her fucking luminous hand and pull her into him.

“I’m sorry,” he offers, pathetically.

With that same wise, forgiving smile, Bonnie looks over her shoulder. “I was happy, Damon. I was happy with you, and I was happy after you.”

“Bonnie…”

“They’re singing again… this is the last hymn,” she hums along with the melody, “I’ve always _loved _this one.”

“Let me try and touch you,” he hurries, standing too, reaching for her vaporous arm. If falls to nothing and he almost collapses.

“The service is nearly finished. I think that’s my cue.”

“_Bonnie_…”

But she shakes her head, curls bouncing like a halo. “It’s time, Damon.” She lifts a brow, the expression crushingly familiar, “I know I asked for colour at my funeral but that Salvatore suit, your trademark black… I’d be disappointed with anything less.”

He searches for words to keep her there, even if only for a minute more, but the doors groan and the congregation pours out. Damon is carried with the crowd, across the grass, searching for her amongst the gravestones, the trees. The fingers that slip over his are pulse-less but palpable.

“You ready to come back now?” Caroline whispers, squeezing the hand, still reaching for Bonnie, back to life.

An elderly woman in the distance watches them, green shawl blowing in the returned wind. Her smile says _it’s okay to let me go. _

“Okay,” he answers, “let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from Auden’s Poem ‘Funeral Blues’ – do read it if you haven’t already. Please do leave a review. I know this story was a lot sadder than my usual one-shots but I hope you can appreciate the beauty of Bamon, even in these circumstances. (Was crying writing this yikes).   
Requests for stories are very encouraged!


	13. Little Witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It’s been a while. I’ve turned 21 (terrifying) and am pretty snowed under with deadlines (which seems to be the narrative of my final year of undergrad) but have missed this community (and Bamon, of course). 
> 
> Today I had a spontaneous urge to watch a random Vampire Diaries episode (make that three) and considering my love for the suited and booted Elijah Mikaelson watched that epic one where he comes to Mystic Falls like a total badass. And, obviously, it made me want to write a Bamon piece set after/around S2 Episode 8. I haven’t explored pre bestie Bamon very much at all so this was fun to write! Definitely a very different style to my last instalment.

vii. Little Witch

“If you’re just going to stand there, I have more…pleasurable things to attend to.”

Bonnie kicks her features into a scowl. “I told you, I was looking for Elena.”

“Well,” the vampire’s eyes bulge, “She’s not here so run along.”

_Dick. _He has a way of making her feel like a child when he doesn’t need her and Mystic Falls’ freaking saviour when he does. All for his own gain, of course. Unless Elena’s involved – a Titanic sized love flashes across his _annoyingly_ blue eyes whenever the brunette is in the room.

And, because everything Damon does sets her teeth on edge, he has to look like _that_ topless.

“Well,” Bonnie snaps back (she’s not sure communication between them is possible without some kind of venom), “if you see her, tell her I need her.”

This makes his brow curve. “No offense, _Bonnie_, but she’s a little preoccupied with staying alive right now.”

_Right, the Klaus thing. _“But the other vampire… Elijah? He’s dead?”

“So?”

Damon leans against the staircase and the stare that regards her is so _uninterested_ her magic pulses with the need to make him care. What about, she has no idea. Definitely not her.

“So, how can Klaus know where Elena is?”

The vampire blinks. “Seriously?” He sighs into her silence, eyes pushing up to the ceiling like she’s _literally the most annoying thing_ to ever stand in his living room. “Klaus is an Original. Think Voldemort with no horcruxes… And a nose.”

“Did you just make a joke?” A smile poked her mouth at his comment; unnerving because a) this is the guy after her best friend and b) Damon doesn’t say things that produce that reaction. Ever.

It’s only when his face pushes back into indifference that she realises he was almost smiling too. “Why don’t you just call her?”

“Elena?”

“Obviously.”

Bonnie toes the edge of the rug, face heating. “Erm, it’s probably a conversation better had in person.”

“Ah. Girl stuff.”

“Okay, this just got weird.”

Damon laughs. And it’s not sarcastic. A grin cracks across his face and the vein in his neck, that Bonnie regrets noticing, tenses with the release.

“I’ve never seen you look _more_ uncomfortable, little witch.”

_Little witch. _It’s… endearing. But it’s _Damon_ so why the fuck did it make her stomach flutter?

“It’s Jeremy,” she says stupidly.

Damon folds his (rudely muscly) arms across his chest. “You and Jeremy, huh?”

“No! No… well, not yet, or… Why am I talking about this to you?”

“Hmm, notice it didn’t take any coercion. You just blurted that baby right out,” the vampire frowns in thought, “Do you have… feelings for him?”

The question, _any _question about her, is so unfamiliar from the vampire that the stretching pause is more from surprise than figuring out how to answer (because _I don’t know_ is fairly straight forward). Damon’s interactions with Bonnie consist of imperatives, eye rolls and, more often than not, her emphatic NO.

“You like just standing there gormlessly, don’t you little –”

The emergence of a woman at the top of the staircase cuts his witticism short (and the nickname his tongue has apparently adopted into his language). Bonnie recognises the woman, vampire, as Rose, wrapped in a silky night gown, bare feet gracefully descending to Damon’s side. The touch she smooths over his exposed shoulder is intimate. _Pleasurable things to attend to. Got it._

“You’re the witch, right?” She says by way of introduction, voice cold.

“I am.”

“A Bennett?”

Bonnie inclines her chin, a quiet pride thrumming through her words. “That’s me.”

“She’s cute,” Rose says to Damon. The vampire shrugs, and just like that, is back to being the Damon she wants to avoid.

“I’ll leave you guys to it,” she says lamely, turning from the stairs and Damon’s falsely sweet _bye, come again soon_.

She throws the front door open with magic: resumed irritation, humiliation, confusion, unbalancing her control. Outside, the autumn leaves storm in circles like Luka had shown her. Luka, Jeremy… Damon. Bonnie flexes her fingers and the wind thrusts towards her outstretched arms. Only then, in the power, does she breathe.

* * *

“Let me get this straight. Elijah isn’t dead and Stefan is in the tomb with Katherine?”

“Yes.”

Jeremy places a cup of peppermint tea under her nose, as if hot drinks can cure the shit show that is their life. “Thanks,” she says anyway and he smiles, shy and inconvenient _because she needs to save the world. _

Bonnie addresses her question to Elena: “And… what do you need me to do?”

“Use the moonstone and break the barrier spell. Got it? _Fabulous_, witch away.”

“_Damon_,” Elena warns and the vampire lifts his palms in insincere apology.

“And you have the moonstone,” Bonnie says, again to Elena, purposefully ignoring the infuriating figure by the window.

“No, _I _do,” Damon preens, waving the translucent rock in the air. “Looks like you’ll have to acknowledge me now, smart ass.”

“You are pathetic,” she grumbles but pushes back the kitchen chair and retrieves the stone from his outstretched palm anyway.

“Charmed as always, Bonnie. Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Do you think you can break it?” Elena probes.

“Don’t do anything that could hurt you, Bonnie,” Jeremy hurries.

“Whatever you do, just do it _fast_,” Damon snaps.

And it’s all _so fucking much_ she holds back a scream.

“I need time,” she says instead, turning the soap-sized thing in her palm.

Elena reaches for her arm; a light squeeze as she says, “I believe in you.”

“I’ll need to take it home,” Bonnie tells them, avoiding Elena’s hopeful eyes pinning too much on her.

Damon animates from the window, vamp-speeding to her side. “Like _hell_ you’re walking home with our only chance of rescuing Stefan.”

“I can’t do it without my spell books,” she retorts, pocketing the stone, pushing up from the table.

Damon’s hand slams on hers. She snatches it away. “Then I’m taking you.”

“I don’t need an escort.”

“This isn’t the time for some feminist bullshit. I’m taking you home and waiting until you get it done.”

Outraged, she swivels to the Gilberts, expecting Jeremy at least to jump to her defence.

“Damon’s right, Bon,” he says quietly, “it’s not safe for you to have it alone.”

“_Seriously_?”

“Come on,” the vampire announces, “We’re going.”

“I’m not a dog,” Bonnie hisses but pulls her denim jacket around her frame, angered magic in her finger tips as she threads the buttons through the holes.

She’s pulled into Elena’s chest as Damon taps his foot impatiently. “Promise you’ll call me or Jeremy if anything happens?

“I’ll try not to kill him,” Bonnie says dryly, to which Damon snorts in disbelief.

“You have ten seconds, then we’re vamp-speeding.”

Jeremy glares at the vampire; Elena just smiles apologetically.

“Relax, I’m coming.”

“Got the moonstone?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“_Yes_.”

“Good. Let’s go, little witch.”

And her stomach twitches again, a lone butterfly wing that scratches away at just a _bit _of her anger. 

* * *

It isn’t exactly surprising that she didn’t invite him inside but still, sitting on her Gram’s front porch, he can’t help but feel a little rejected. Definitely the more humbling consequence of vampirism.

_Tick-tock, Bennet. _

“Hello, Damon.”

He launches off the step in a beat, palms curled in fists, stare darting around the front yard for a weapon; yet in the moment calculating how quickly he can wrench the wooden fence post out of the flower bed, Elijah is in front of him, pupils dilating.

“Tell Bonnie she needs to come outside with the moonstone,” he instructs, “But don’t tell her I’m here.” He lifts a ringed finger to his lips and breaks contact, abandoning Damon to the will of compulsion.

That’s the worst thing about this new vamp on vamp compelling development: you know you’re being compelled and there’s fuck all you can do about it. He knocks twice on the door, calls her name. Shouts it.

“I’m not letting you in!” Is the call from inside.

“I know, which is why I need you to come out. It’s important.”

“I thought breaking the spell was important!”

The supernatural pushes words forward: “This is about the spell. Please.”

There’s a shuffle as she unlocks the door, her face just visible in the crack. “I didn’t know you knew that word.”

He tenses against the force, tries with everything to resist, shake his head as he says, “Come outside with the moonstone. Just on the front step. I’ve remembered something.”

Bonnie eyes him curiously. _Come on, Bonnie. See through it._ “Fine. I’ll come out,” she sighs and dread bites at the compulsion’s numbing.

The witch slips from the warmth of the house and out onto to the front porch, closing the door behind her. She barely has time to form a question when Elijah has gripped her arm. Bonnie screams, her power leaping, shocking the Original, making him stumble.

Command delivered, Damon is free to grab the fence post he eyed before, the panel splintering in his hand. Elijah straightens his tie, toys with the cufflinks on his shirt, and smiles. _The bastard._

“It’s admirable, really, Damon, you putting up a fight, but me and the young lady both know you only care about the moonstone.”

“Bonnie, get back inside!” Damon yells, fence post held in the air like a sword.

She pivots to push on the front door but Elijah is faster – much – and barricades the door with a disappointed sigh. “I’m afraid, this isn’t how tonight’s going to go.” He nods his head at Damon, “Thank you for your help,” grabs Bonnie and blurs away, leaving him panting, near stupefied, waving a garden fence around his head.

“Damn you, Elijah!” He shouts at the night, piercing the fence, upside down, in to the soil. That’s when he notices something gleaming, catching the moonlight, throwing it across the lawn.

_You surprise me, Bonnie. _

The moonstone was in her hand; she must have dropped it as she was being taken. _Clever little witch. _He doesn’t feel completely victorious though. Even with the stone, smooth in his palm, anxiety, unease, _fear?_ Something claws at his buried conscience.

_Elena will never speak to me again if I don’t get her back. _The rescue is for Elena. That’s all. Elijah’s right, he doesn’t care about her. Bonnie’s arrogant, irritating, _judegy_, only a semi-competent witch and yet… he wants to get her back. Needs to.

_If anyone’s going to kill Bonnie Bennett, it will be me. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two? Reviews are very much encouraged. Thank you for reading.


	14. Little Witch (II)

“After you.”

Bonnie doesn’t move; Elijah chuckles.

“I’m not a heathen, Bonnie. Please. Sit in the passenger seat.”

Her feet fall forward, still dizzy from the supernatural speed that he carried her. The Original catches her arm, but not her fear. That claws its way up her stomach and, almost, in a whimper out her mouth.

_You’re a witch. Do something!_

He sighs like he can read her mind. _Maybe he can?_ There doesn’t seem to be much in the way of limitation to these super-vampires. Definitely not death. “I do hope you’re not considering trying to outwit me. Or…” he half-smiles, fondly, _nearly_, “Using magic against me.”

_Do it now. _But her power has dried, what little she can feel in her fingertips has gone limp. She could barely lift a leaf, let alone stall a gazillion year old vampire.

“No?”

“No,” she answers, the word heavy, like shame.

Elijah gestures again at the open door. “Shall we?”

“Do I have a choice?”

His dark eyes flare at her indignation. “No, I suppose you don’t.”

As far as abductions go, Elijah’s methods are… unusual. _And Lord knows, this town has seen enough to recognise a strange one. _Still, the suit, his charm, that _power_: she’s shaking as she climbs into the car. The vampire closes the door like a chauffeur and, in a blink, is in the driver’s seat. And Bonnie, like a fool, turns to the window in desperation, looking for _him_.

“Men like Damon are notoriously unreliable.” He turns the key in the ignition; the car (fancy, silver, Mercedes) roaring to life. Bonnie tries to match her breathing to the engine, her pulse deafening even to her, let alone the vampire. “He strikes me as having a rather obsessive personality. And,” the car animates, “evidently you aren’t one of them. A pity.”

“Where are you taking me?” Bonnie rushes, refusing to look at him. His handsome features only intensify his danger, like a snare or trap, seduce the women, drain them dry. (And even _now_ she thinks again that _stupidly hot must be a pre-requisite for the un-dead_.)

“To my home. Well, temporary home. I have yet to secure somewhere suitable for my needs.”

Her magic simmers, restoring its strength in bubbles beneath her skin. “You want the moonstone, right?”

“Yes, but you so expertly dropped it, didn’t you?”

Fear swells. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve lived on this earth for over a millennium. It will take more than that to fool me, I can assure you.”

The silence only magnifies the dread so she asks the question every _dumb girl_ in every _dumb thriller_ does: “Are you going to kill me?”

Elijah releases a long breath, “Killing you would be counter-productive to my purpose.” He turns his head to regard her - Bonnie dares to meet his eyes - “Besides, I rather respect witches.”

//

Loaded with Alaric’s various vampire-destroying utensils, and six and a _half_ ripe AB blood-bags (he got peckish whilst packing), Damon kicks his car into reverse, scattering the gravel from his drive. It’s been almost two hours since the bastard snatched her and he’s finally equipped to face the dragon and rescue the irritating, probably ungrateful, princess.

_Now, where the fuck could he have gone? _

This is where Bonnie is at her most useful: location spells.

“Well this is just _brilliant_,” he snaps aloud, “The only person who could find you _is_ you.”

Still, he pulls out onto the highway, speeding towards destination wherever, hoping the Original has pulled into the hard shoulder to have a piss in the shrubbery. _Right, because vampires need to pee. _

“You better open the damned tomb _tonight_ after all this, little witch,” he growls (because he _will_ find her, and it _will_ be tonight).

About fifteen minutes into frantic, but aimless, driving he gets a call from Elena.

“You okay?” In lieu of hello.

“Damon?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are you?”

She sounds stressed, her voice strained. “Elena? What’s happened?”

There’s a beat before she responds, “I got a text. I… I think it’s from Elijah?”

_What is this shit? Pretty Little Liars? _“Was it about Bonnie!?”

Another beat. “I think so. He said he has someone I care about-”

“Let me guess, he needs you to come save her?”

“I don’t know what he wants. Me or the moonstone… or both?” Her words thicken; breathing shallowed.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay-”

“No, it’s not Damon! With Stefan in the tomb and now this?” She’s really crying now – Damon holds the phone a further distance from his ear.

“Elena, it will be okay.”

“Of course, _you _would say that! You hate her!”

He right hand tightens on the steering wheel. “Who?”

“_Bonnie_, Damon! And now she’s gone because you didn’t protect her like you promis-”

And for the first time in his Elena-centric life, he cuts her off. Ends the call.

He shoots off a text:

**Bad signal. Send me the address Elijah gave you. **

And then another:

**By the way, I never hated her. **

//

“Would you like something to drink?” The vampire looks up from his novel lazily, as if just now remembering her presence.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Dr. Jonas gives an admirable attempt at English Tea.”

The tall man in the kitchen raises a brow. Bonnie had recognised him immediately, received the same chill as that one in Grill. Unflinching, the older witch merely stepped aside for Elijah to sweep into the apartment.

“Very kind of you, Elijah,” Luka’s dad remarks, then, finally, addresses Bonnie, “I have Diet Coke, if that’s more to your liking.”

She wants to scream at him _why!?_ What do you get out of this? What about your _son?_ Where _is_ he? But under Elijah’s waiting stare, she only declines again.

Elijah’s gaze slips back to the page, his mouth tracing the words as he reads. Bonnie shifts on the chair, making it creak, willing the Dr to look at her. She’s pretty certain witch telepathy isn’t a thing but she was also pretty certain vampires weren’t before Stefan and his dick of a brother came to town.

Damon’s betrayal shouldn’t hurt, it’s _Damon_ after all, but it does. It really fucking does. He used her – walked her home in all his _Little Witch_ this and _Little Witch_ that only to hand over to an Original. She knew this would happen when she dropped the stone. She gave him what he wanted; he’ll find another plaything of a witch to undo the tomb spell. And she’ll become the project of Elijah’s ‘purpose’… like her Gram’s was Damon’s.

The vampire slams his book shut; Bonnie jumps. Then she hears what he must have: a whistle.

“You said he wasn’t home until late tonight.”

The Dr. moves lethargically, evidently unbothered by the Original’s irritation. “He’s a teenage boy, I can’t control him.”

_Luka. _Naïve as it may be, her heart leaps.

“He can’t see her,” Elijah warns, “Get rid of him.”

“Relax. Luka doesn’t know her.”

The door unlocks before the vampire can respond, and Bonnie process the Dr’s lie. Luka unhooks his earphone to greet his dad, his eyes shifting immediately to the compelling presence of the Original, then, to her.

Bonnie’s not sure what her face does in that moment but it communicates _something_ because Luka frowns and says, “Why is there a girl in our living room?”

“She’s with me,” Elijah announces.

Luka nods. “Well, I’ve got some homework to do so….” He eyes flicker, pulling on hers, “Nice to meet you.”

“Can I use the bathroom?” Bonnie hurries, as Luka turns out the room.

Elijah inclines his head to the Dr. “Can she?”

“Down the corridor, on the left.”

Her legs feel borrowed when she stands. “Thank you.”

“Bonnie?” The power in the Original’s voice makes her turn.

“Yes?”

He smiles; a warning. “Hurry back.”

Luka’s door is ajar as she passes it, his sneakers hanging off the bed. Praying he’s listening, she turns the handle of the bathroom door, and closes it firmly behind her. Unlocked.

_Come on, Luka. _

She flicks the faucet on to dampen Elijah’s inevitably tuned in vamp-hearing. Whilst Luka and his dad have shown no signs of knowing her… ‘_It will take more than that to fool me, I can assure you._’

The bathroom door opens and closes in a motion; Luka brushes past her to turn on the other tap. “We don’t have long,” he whispers. “He’s keeping you here, right?”

“Yes, and my magic-”

“He’s an Original. It will take more than just our magic. We need to be smart.”

“No,” Bonnie reaches for his arm, “He’ll kill you.”

“Not if we’re smart.” His eyes dart around the bathroom, then to the window. “There’s a fire escape just the other side.”

“I won’t have time. He’ll find me.”

His fingers find hers, warm… and buzzing with magic. “I’m going to the seal door. My dad will open it and when he does, I’ll be lying against the bath. Like you knocked me out, okay?”

“Luka?”

The voice startles them both, Bonnie’s eyes rounding in terror. Luka closes his eyes, a spell tumbling from his mouth.

_Move. _

Bonnie flips the toilet seat shut and hitches her foot on the lid. The window is jammed, a little rusty, and she huffs with the effort of wrangling the latch.

The Dr. calls again for his son, closer this time. Outside the bathroom door.

_Move!_

Magic darts from her fingertips; the window swings open; the outside breeze swells in the room. Luka is still murmuring the spell when she pushes over the ledge. Her boots meet the clang of metal, the sound reverberating up her legs. Bonnie twists to the window – shuts it on Luka’s encouraging smile, the Dr now calling _her_ name as he tries the bathroom door.

_Move. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was planning on continuing but needed to go to bed oop (and wanted to get something uploaded tonight). I’m sorry there wasn’t any Bamon interaction this instalment but there will be LOTS in the next (and probably final?). Besides, Elijah is the basically the joint love of my life next to Damon Salvatore so writing him is always super fun. 
> 
> Thanks for the support. Please keep it coming. 
> 
> Tumblr: perpetualimaginings (ask box open for requests)


	15. Little Witch (III)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deadlines are finished (finally!) and what better way to treat myself than venturing back into this story?

The fire-escape trembles as she hurtles down it – a rattle that that the Original _must_ be able to hear. Adrenaline shocks her movements, her body kicked into flight mode, carrying her fear, her leaping heart, down the stairs. At the last step she launches into a run, immediately steering left down the sidewalk. Distance, however futile, is imperative.

She’s almost at the next block when she sees Damon’s Camaro crawling towards her. His eyes round through the windscreen. “Need a ride?” He grins, sticking his head out the window.

“Are you serious?” Her question fragments into breaths, chest heaving.

Damon waves his hand at her. “You look like someone on the run.”

Bonnie twists behind to the, thankfully, empty street, hating having to keep still. Running from two vampires in a day is more than she can take. “So you can give me back to Elijah?”

“_What_?” Damon’s brow near flies off his forehead, “Why would I do that? I came to rescue you, idiot.”

“_Rescue_ me!?”

“Yes. Rescue you.”

She hesitates, looking for the lie in the blue that stares, shocked, back at her. “Why?”

Damon bangs on the car door. “_Because_.”

“Because?”

He groans. “Just get in the car, Bonnie. Please.”

_Please. _Maybe it’s the delirium of peril but she smirks. “Fine. But only because there’s a centuries old vampire after me.”

He exhales; masks it as a shrug. “As good a reason as any.”

* * *

Address received; Damon drove like a newly passed teenage boy, even scratched his beloved car. Only when he neared the apartment block did he slow. He had a plan… kinda. It mainly involved running in guns blazing, ready to stab anyone or anything that tried to stop the rescue. To see the witch sprinting down the street like a runaway munchkin was such a relief he could have leaped out the car and hugged her. He didn’t, of course. He played it cool, rolling down the window and making a quip like vampire-James Bond.

Damon glances at her in the passenger seat. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

_Well, that’s a lie. _Her little heart is still sprinting and she’s looking at the rear-view mirror every other second.

“You don’t _seem_ o-”

“Because I’ve just made an Original vampire very angry!” She snaps. Her hands are shaking on her lap and he has a strange desire to reach over and hold them still. He doesn’t.

“Welcome to my world: making people angry.” He tries for a smile; she throws him a look nothing short of withering.

“I thought you’d be protecting Elena.”

_Is that… bitterness? _Damon pushes on the accelerator. “Sometimes I do stupid things, clearly this was one of them as turns out you didn’t need my sword wielding skills. How _did_ you get out anyway?”

“Aw, are you jealous you didn’t get to have your hero moment?” Bonnie’s mouth curves. “Like Elijah wouldn’t have taken your head off.”

“Watch yourself. I could turn around.”

She rests her head on the window, as if, finally, relaxed. “But you won’t.”

_But I won’t. _

“Did you witchify him?” He asks after a beat.

Her face is turned away from him but he can feel the eye roll. “_Witchify_?”

“Yes, magic, pow-pow, oops your brain is on fire.”

Another beat. “I couldn’t.”

“You _couldn’t _fry his annoying, British ass? Don’t tell me you’ve got the hots for Elijah. Stockholm Syndrome much.”

He receives a slap on his arm for that. Probably merited.

“Believe it or not, I’m not all-powerful,” she hesitates, poking her tongue against her cheek, “I… had help.”

“From who!?”

And there’s _definitely _a smile as she says, “A friend.”

“Okay cryptic. Must be some friend.” His words carry a frown. Almost like he’s jealous, which he isn’t, obviously. He just hates mystery.

“He’s clever. And brave.”

“_Gross_. You sound like you’re in love with him. Thought you had Jeremy on the go?”

She twists to glare at him. “I don’t have anyone ‘on the go’.”

“Whatever you say,” he says coyly, watching the road but feeling the fire of her stare. _Why does annoying her feel so good? _

“I mean it, Damon.”

“_I mean it, Damon_,” he imitates, like a seven-year-old on the school playground. _Flirting._ Shut up, he scolds himself.

“One hundred and eighty something years old. Mature.”

He laughs; the ease is disconcerting. Is he _enjoying_ Bonnie Bennett’s company? “One hundred and eight something years old and _sexy_. You can’t be both.”

Damon’s stare flickers to the witch in his periphery. She’s smiling at something in her palm (and not at his joke).

“What’s that?”

“A message from Luka - the friend. He says it worked; Elijah has no idea.”

“Great,” he relaxes against the leather seat, “tell your boyfriend thanks for the weather report.”

“Not my boyfriend,” she corrects, smoothing the magic paper of its wrinkles, folding it into four like she’s saving it for scrapbooking. _Did that thing seriously just poof into her hand? _

“But you _want_ him to be?”

“No.” The paper is slipped into her pant pocket.

“Because of Jeremy?”

Bonnie blows out a breath, “I don’t _know_.” He readies for more questioning but the witch cuts him off. “Why are you suddenly so interested in my love life? My life in general? It wasn’t that long you didn’t care if I, and I quote, ‘lived or died’?”

_That_ gets him stumped. It’s just happened – an unexpected happening – that he now _does_. Like a lot. Like enough to get his car scratched, risk his life kind of does. And it can’t be just for Elena because he hasn’t even texted to say he found her. _Shit. I should probably do that. _

“Well?” Bonnie probes, evidently as impatient as him.

Damon shrugs. “It means you’re tolerable. And can occasionally do useful spells.”

“Or _maybe_ you like me a little bit?”

He nearly slams on the breaks. “What!?”

“Not like that, idiot,” Bonnie eyerolls, “Ew.”

_Ew… yeah. _Damon frowns the counterthought out of his mind. “Frenemies,” he declares.

“_Frenemies_?”

“Yeah. Between.”

She shakes her head, muttering something about him being a complete man-child, but agrees, lifts a brow and says, “Okay, frenemies.”

They drive a few minutes in silence; Bonnie leans her head against the window again. He checks his watch: 8:25pm. _Not bad… Elena will- SHIT. Elena. _

“Text Elena and let her know you’re safe.”

“With what phone?”

“Mine, sassy.” He flicks it onto her lap. “Tell her to stay indoors.”

“Shall I tell her where we’re going? Where _are_ we going?”

“No and I don’t know.”

“You don’t _know_?”

Damon fights an eyeroll of his own. “Relax, okay? We’re just putting distance between us and the suit.” Elijah’s new nickname amuses him; he glances at Bonnie to see if it did her. _Un_amused would be an apt description.

“What about the others, Damon? Won’t Elijah just go after them?” She stares out the window, stiff with indignance, “This is selfish.”

“No, being selfish would be enjoying the time I have with Elena whilst Stefan is in the tomb,” he snaps, admitting something he hasn’t even admitted to himself.

Bonnie lifts her head. Her eyes are round with understanding, fucking _understanding_, and that just irritates him more. Bonnie the good, Bonnie the moral, Bonnie the empath… even with the dick in love with his brother’s ex-girlfriend.

“Can you just text her?” He says sharply, “She’s worried.”

“Right, sorry.”

Damon relaxes in the silence. The witch is watching, again, the blur of car lights beyond the window, and it’s nice to get out of Mystic Falls, it is. Leave Elena and his web of feelings.

“Can I ask you something?” Bonnie says suddenly.

“Depends.”

“Why are you waiting for Elena to choose you?”

_Yeah, no. _“That’s outside the boundaries of frenemies.”

She chews her lip, “I just think you’re restricting your-”

“Are you tired?” He interrupts, “There’s a motel in about 10 miles. I saw a sign.”

He watches the cogs in her brain whir.

“Separate rooms, don’t panic.”

“Um sure. I’m… can I eat first?”

_She doesn’t have money, so I’ll be paying. Basically, a Bonnie and Damon date night. _

“I think there’s a restaurant next to the motel. Don’t be awkward and say you’re vegan or something.”

She chuckles; Damon’s eyes narrow.

“Coming from the vampire it just sounds… funny.”

“Now who’s _mature_?”

They slip back into the silence. Almost. Bonnie’s question is invading his peace so he switches the radio on, filling his mind with some Led Zeppelin. Before long _Sheldon’s Motel and Restaurant_ flashes its epileptic yellow sign and he pulls off the highway. The parking lot is empty but for an old truck. _Classy._

“Your castle awaits,” he says dryly, stepping out onto the gravel-weeds hybrid.

Bonnie pushes on the car door and immediately pivots left and right, her heartbeat bouncing back into his senses.

“Hey,” he touches her arm, “Elijah’s too fancy to set foot in this place.”

She blinks down at the contact; Damon swiftly picks his hand off her jacket. “Let’s eat.”

* * *

Eating dinner opposite Damon Salvatore was definitely not in Bonnie’s agenda for the week – or ever. _Neither was getting abducted._ She reaches for another fry, or five, pushing the Original out of her mind.

“Wow you _were_ hungry,” the vampire comments.

“Shut up,” she mumbles through her mouthful, “I’ve been through trauma.”

He lifts his palms. “No judgement, little witch, just an observation.”

And again, warmth simmers at the nickname. She’s _comfortable_ with him, there’s an ease to their interactions… the same she noticed that morning at the Boarding House, before Rose slid her arm over his torso.

“Besides, Luka and Jeremy might like a more… cuddly woman.”

_Doesn’t mean he’s not a dick. _

“Such a charmer, Damon.”

“Please,” he grins (it sets his eyes alight), “You couldn’t handle my charm.”

_Try me. _Bonnie reddens at the instinctual response, grateful sense and reason swallowed it before release. She takes a large gulp of milkshake, willing his eyes to stop studying her. He kept glancing at her in the car too.

“Who do you think Sheldon is then?”

“The Motel owner? Probably dead.”

The vampire winks. “Or alive.”

She leans across the table for another chip – Damon snatches the basket away with a victorious eyebrow raise. “You were stealing them all.”

Bonnie settles for more milkshake. “What’s it like being… alive?” She asks after a sip; the question just sort of falling out. Immortality has never appealed to her. Living indefinitely… it must take the intensity out of life.

But looking at Damon’s stunned expression, she regrets it immediately. _Should have saved that for Stefan or Caroline – an actual friend. _“I don’t know why I said that,” she says lamely, to her plate.

“It’s tiring.”

Bonnie looks up.

“You feel like you’re always trying to find that thing… the thing that makes it all worth it.” Damon threads a hand through his hair, something unreadable in his eyes – maybe sadness – and then it melts back into a cold, blue absence. “I’ll go get us rooms,” he announces, pushing back his chair.

_And the mystery of Damon Salvatore continues. _

* * *

“Get us two rooms,” he speaks at the greasy haired clerk at the desk, “Overlooking the road, not the woods.”

The puppeteer nod pleases him; the vacant understanding of compelled eyes. Bonnie wouldn’t agree with this but he doesn’t answer to her. He doesn’t answer to anyone. She’s asked too many questions tonight that have set him thinking. Damon Salvatore doesn’t _think_.

“Here are your keys. Room 7 and 8.”

He takes without a thank you and trudges moodily back to the diner to collect the witch. She smiles at him. _When has she ever smiled at me?_

“Room 7 or 8. Take your pick.”

“Er, eight I guess.” She’s trying to read him again but he’s not going to let her. Bonnie and her smiles and her questions… He’s completely _unbothered._

He strides ahead of her down the brown carpeted corridor, fighting to put some distance between them – space to empty his head, get drunk on blood.

“This is me,” he announces, “Night.”

“Damon…”

“I just need a drink,” he tells her, twisting the key in the lock.

“No, I mean… I don’t want to be alone.”

_What the hell is she suggesting? _

“Believe me, under any other circumstances I wouldn’t ask but…”

Her sneaker traces over a stain in the carpet; through the cracks in the window, a breeze forces its way into the corridor. _Is he seriously….? _

“A few hours ago, you wouldn’t even let me in your house. Now you want to share a room?”

Bonnie chews her lip, wide eyes looking everywhere _but_ him. “I didn’t trust you… I’m sorry.”

_Fuck is their relationship making strides today. _Damon pushes on the door – opens it for her. Bonnie shuffles through, all her Bennet-spunk dissolved.

“I sleep on the left,” he says by way of acceptance.

“Okay.”

He shuts the door, inhaling the damp of the room. Even the bed is brown.

“I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Right.”

The bed groans with his weight. _I wonder how many murders have happened in this room? _Damon twists to get comfortable and feels the round shape of the moonstone in his pocket. He places it on the bedside table just as Bonnie renters the room.

“You got it then?” She asks.

“Smart thinking.”

Bonnie shrugs, still standing by the bathroom door, hesitant to move towards the bed.

“I’ve decided not to sleep naked tonight,” he tells her, suddenly wanting to break the awkwardness, settle back into banter. Banter that’s now become _their_ thing.

Bonnie looks even more uncomfortable. “I think I should sleep on the floor.”

_Charming. _“Don’t be stupid. You said it yourself, you _trust_ me now. I’m not going to kill you.”

“You know ‘I’m not going to kill you’ aren’t always the most assuring words.” But she edges closer anyway.

“And if you’re worried about the other activities, you’re not my type anyway.”

The weight of a pillow collides with his head. “Neither are you.”

_Well that doesn’t sit right._ “What do you mean? I’m everyone’s type.”

“The fact that you’re not even being facetious with that…” The witch rolls her eyes. “Never been rejected, Damon Salvatore?”

_Katherine. Elena. _“No, it’s a new experience. Not sure I’m enjoying it.”

She’s wriggled her way under the covers, eyes glittering with amusement. _Glittering? _Damon rolls over. Away from her.

“I forgot. You like the Jeremy’s of the world.”

“Something like that… Can you switch the light off?”

He leans across the bedside table, plunging the room in darkness.

“Damon?” Bonnie’s pulse beats steadily – he finds himself counting.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” Her hand brushes against his leg, an accident, judging by her fast it darts away, but the shock it sent through him… _slightly terrifying_. “Sorry.”

He wants to say something but his words have dried and the clock in the corner of the room keeps ticking and he lets what might have been fade to silence. Bonnie’s breathing has become rhythmic anyway. _Out like a light._

An hour later his phone rings: the number unknown. Bonnie stirs with the sound and he slips out of the warm bed (much warmer than his one back at the Boarding House, nearly three times the size and often empty) into the bathroom, careful not to wake her.

“Elijah,” he hisses into the speaker. _Back to the old Pretty Little Liars shit._

“I see I’m predictable,” the vampire drawls. “How is my witch?”

He shivers at the phrase. “She’s not your anything,” Damon snaps, “What do you want?”

Elijah exhales. “My brother Niklaus has found himself in some trouble and, being the noble older brother, I am required to assist him. This means leaving Mystic Falls…” The smile in his words is palpable, “You’re welcome.”

Damon leans against the door. “So that’s it?”

“Unfortunately, life doesn’t work quite like that Damon. My brother will be wanting the girl –”

“If you lay another hand on Bonnie…”

“Bonnie? I meant Elena,” the Original chuckles, “I was mistaken. She _is _one of your obsessions.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he hisses, teeth gritted.

“Elena, Bonnie… what other poor girl are you going to latch onto?”

“I’m not in love with Bonnie.”

“I never said anything about love. Interesting.”

_What I would do to punch his smug face…. _“Remind me why I’m still taking to you?”

Elijah laughs again. “Always a pleasure, Damon. I hope you can keep yourselves entertained before my return.”

“Oh, we’ll try,” he snarks, resisting, with all his will, the urge to tell the bastard where to put it.

“I see what you like about her, by the way. She’s… vibrant.”

And this time Damon can’t be assed with niceties; he hangs up and climbs back into bed, the little witch’s snore titling his mouth upwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! Feedback makes me so happy. See you soon (and happy new year!)


	16. Little Witch (IV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a bit of creative slump and just wanted to write something fun so hi… this is the final instalment to ‘Little Witch.’

Bonnie wakes to the vampire staring at her. A blink, then he’s frowning out the window, embarrassed, obviously, at getting caught. _Damon Salvatore embarrassed._ She folds away her smile.

“You’re awake,” he says from the window, “Finally.”

“What’s the time?”

“Seven am.”

“_Damon_.”

He shrugs, hair all ruffed up from lying on the pillows. “Breakfast finishes at eight. I checked.”

“Wow. Didn’t realise you were such a pancake fanatic.”

His mouth twitches at her comment, like some secret she doesn’t have access to. “You sleep okay?” he asks, and again, she’s startled at his ease, the… kindness? It isn’t an adjective she ever expected to attribute to the vampire but his gaze, and it _is_ a gaze, possesses a dewiness in the waking sun. It’s unnerving how… _pretty_ he looks in the morning. “Yes, no? Not hard.”

“Er, yeah. Surprisingly.”

Damon picks at a wonky strand of hair, curls it with his thumb. “Good.”

And Bonnie’s suddenly very aware that she’s lying in a bed – and that _he’s_ leaning against the window just watching her. She tugs at words, tries to string a comment, but her unlikely roommate has coherent thought held captive. _Get it together, idiot. _

“I can hear your heart. You scared?” She touches her chest and _of course_, the betrayer. Damon pushes from the window ledge and for a moment, it’s as though he’s going to walk over to the bed, to her, but he turns to the understated vanity in the corner, continues arranging his hair. “By the way Elijah’s not going to be a problem anymore. For now, at least.”

And _now_ her pulse freezes. “What!?”

“He called me last night. Was all ‘My brother, I must be duteous and save my family’,” he says nonchalantly, butchering the Original’s English drawl.

Bonnie sits up, enlivened. “And you were going to tell me this when!?”

“Over pancakes.” He throws a glance over his shoulder, chuckles at Bonnie’s disbelief, “You were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“He’s just leaving? No consequences.”

In the mirror, Damon gives her a pointed look. “They’re the _Original’s_. First vampires ever aka the most dramatic,” he lifts a brow, “I know what you’re thinking and yes, more dramatic than me. They’ll come back guns blazing-”

“Fangs thrashing.”

“Huh?”

_Why did I just say that? _“I just… trying to make a joke,” she trails off.

Damon looks genuinely perplexed. “I didn’t know you did that? Made jokes.”

The smile bounces back, flirting with her mouth. “I guess it’s just the relief of imminent death being … less imminent.”

“Noted,” He folds his arms, leaning back against the dresser, surveying her, “It suits you.”

* * *

The time is 9:05am, they’re half an hour into their road-trip, heavy with pancakes and – Damon glances to the witch in his periphery – they’re _happy_. Well, as happy as one can be with a brother trapped in a tomb, a family of vampires coming for blood and the best friend of the girl you’re in love with as passenger who, just earlier this week, was a particularly prickly thorn in your side. Bonnie begins to hum along to the song he’s got coming from the radio, pitchy, (he plays with something witty to say) and against all odds, _pretty damn happy. _

“So… frenemy,” he says, enjoying the sound of it in his mouth. Something about her name – Bonnie – is so unsatisfactory on its own. He likes nicknames; he likes _her_ nicknames.

“Hmm I think the enemy side is pretty lacking. You rescuing me etc.”

“Oh, I’m sure that can be arranged,” he says casually, beaming internally at her acknowledgement. He’s not a saviour, far from it, but doing the Right Thing™… he’s starting to understand why his brother abandoned head ripping. Kinda. “I guess Elijah channelled all my anger.”

“True. Or you’ve just got tired of being an ignorant asshole.”

“Ouch.”

She smooths her grin into indifference. _Not fast enough._ Damon drums on the steering wheel, ignoring what her comment did to his… everywhere? He’s always taken a quiet pride, or pleasure, or both, in being called an asshole by Bonnie Bennett.

_“I see what you like about her, by the way. She’s… vibrant.”_

_Fuck off Elijah. _“Okay: Man-witch or Little Gilbert. Which one?” He asks over the Original’s insinuating comments.

“You’re obsessed,” she groans.

“And you’re blushing.”

“Focus on the road, Damon.”

“Come on, we’ve bonded now. You’ve discovered I’m actually quite charming and I’ll even go as far as to call you tolerable.” He smirks, unable to suppress the glee at her discomfort.

“Believe it or not, I wasn’t weighing up their strengths and weaknesses whilst fearing for my life.”

“Bullshit. Girls always think about a guy before they go to sleep. Who was it?”

Bonnie looks oddly uncomfortable. “No-one. And they don’t.”

“You’re lying, little witch.”

“Were you?” she throws back, irritated.

“Thinking about Jeremy. Guilty. Couldn’t help myself.”

“You know who I mean.”

_Elena. _

“Yeah, I guess,” he lies, because saying _actually I was thinking about you_ could easily be mis-interpreted.

The car fills with the radio, like there is nothing else that needs saying.

* * *

Elena is standing on the porch, arms wrapped around herself in the chill. Jeremy stands beside her, grinning at the Camaro, at _Bonnie_.

“Home sweet home,” Damon says softly and she doesn’t check to see who he’s looking at as he says it. Elena’s there, that’s all that matters now.

Bonnie pushes on the passenger door and raises her hand in an awkward wave, unused to a homecoming party. Jeremy moves first, reaching to pull her frame into his, his hands, splayed over her back, say _you’re not disappearing again._ It’s nice, _he’s_ nice, so why is she looking at _them_, Damon and Elena, watching as she stands a breath away from him, watching as she reaches to touch his cheek, watching him completely, captivated, watching her. She has his whole heart in that touch.

“You’re okay, right?”

Jeremy re-centres her focus. She smiles up at him (because she will feign content until she _is_). “I’m okay.”

“Good,” his hand is in her hair, “I’m… that’s good.”

“Okaaaay, let’s break out the scotch,” announces Damon loudly. “None for you Little Gilbert, it’s a school night,” he remarks, pushing past them, Elena in tow.

“It’s midday, Damon,” Bonnie goes to say but Elena beats to her to it. Earns the smirk, the wink.

Jeremy puts space between them, cheeks tinged red. “After you,” he says.

…

Damon pours Bourbon into several glass tumblers, an extra for himself, and pushes them across the table. Bonnie catches hers in cupped hands; something flickers in the vampire’s stare, a victory, and she lifts it to her lips, inhaling the bitter tang.

“To Bonnie.” He raises his glass, “Our little witch.”

“To Bonnie,” the Gilbert’s chorus and she allows herself, for a moment, to feel loved, to feel _seen_.

Then Damon places the Moonstone on the table and the moment collapses. “Spell-breaking take two.” She stares at it; Damon drums on the table. “_Bonnie_.”

“Damon, patience. Do you think you can do the spell?” That’s Elena. Soon it will be Jeremy, soon it will be the whole damned world.

“Now,” she says, defeated. It doesn’t need to be posed as a question.

“Do you need your books?”

Bonnie looks at the vampire, hoping foolishly to find something other than function in his eyes. Just this morning was… _dewiness_, fresh, wondering.

“No, I think I’ve got it.” She stands, picks up the stone, and exits into the corridor, throat tightening. It’s pathetic, it is, wanting to cry when really, why should she ever have expected anything less? This is who she is. Who her Grams was.

“Bonnie?” It’s Jeremy, _kind Jeremy_: with his palms in his pockets he looks about as unsure as she feels.

She turns away from him, re-adjusts the mask. “Can I use the living room? I need space to-”

“You know you don’t have to do this right now.”

And she laughs, a little broken. “It’s Stefan. Of course, I do.”

“I know but…” His words dissolve, “Yeah, it’s… You can use whatever room you’d like.” He hovers in the doorway, Elena and Damon’s chatter – “Did you annoy her?” “Oh, only about as much as she annoyed me” “You’re too hard on her, Damon” “Don’t I get hero points though?” – smothering. He looks like he wants to say sorry but Bonnie’s never been one for pity so she smiles, sucks it up, and promises she’ll save the gentlemanly Salvatore.

“The living room will be fine. Thanks.”

She yanks on the curtains to make an artificial night, scrambles in the drawers for matches, and, placing the Moonstone on the coffee table, sits cross legged on the carpet. Bonnie breathes and the candles light themselves. Magic is fuelled by emotion and she’s vibrating with it. Eyes closed, she begins the incantation, chanting softly. When she holds the stone in her palm, it’s so cold it whispers to her.

“How much longer?” Damon speaks from the doorway; her eyes fly open.

“Are you fucking serious?”

_His_ eyes enlarge. “What?”

She wants to control the emotion in her voice, bury it like always, but she’s _hurt_ and thrumming with magic and Damon, _Damon_\- “So we’re back to this? You treating me like I’m not a human being.”

“Are you- are you _crying_?”

Bonnie stands, the stone enclosed in her fist. “I actually thought – _stupidly_ – that I was becoming more to you than just an accessory.”

Damon goes to speak but Elena’s voice freezes the thought. 

“Go,” she says coldly, “Elena’s calling.” She chucks him the stone, his reflexes receiving it effortlessly, if not a little taken aback, “It should work. If not, you have my number.”

* * *

It’s only when the front door slams shut that his brain kicks his ass into gear and says _go after her, idiot._ Pocketing the stone, he yanks, rather dramatically, on the door, ignoring Elena’s confused demands regarding the commotion because _fuck_, he’s confused too. All he knows is that Bonnie’s upset and he cares about stuff like that now.

“Wait, Bonnie! You don’t have to go.”

She pivots, eyes dark. “I did my job. Working hours are over.”

“Look,” he begins, descending the porch steps, “I’m sorry you feel you’ve been treated like-”

“How can you know what I feel?” Her voice layers, “No one’s ever bothered to ask,” then halves, “I lost my Grams because of you.” He’s hanging off the bottom step, halted. “And you know what’s the really shitty thing?” She almost smiles. “I’m no-one’s first choice. You’re all always going to choose Elena, Jeremy included.”

“That’s not true.”

“Of course, it is. I’m not even my own first choice.”

Damon moves at this, her pain, it draws out his honesty. “_I_ chose you.”

“Please,” she lifts a hand, as if to stop his motion, “don’t pretend like saving Stefan wasn’t the first thing on your mind. I get it – he’s your brother –”

“Actually, the first thing on my mind was that I really, _really_ didn’t want you to die.” He steps forward, undeterred. “Not for the spell, not even for Elena, but for me. Selfish Damon.” She’s gone quiet; her stare burns. Damon continues, he has to, “And I did choose you. I _had_ the moonstone. I do have other witches in my life, you know,” he swallows, “Just none as… important as you. You’re… vibrant.”

Bonnie’s eyes narrow, disbelieving. He cringes. “I’m… vibrant?”

“Yeah, you’re - _fuck you, Elijah -_ _vibrant_ and it’s addicting and scary and I don’t know what to feel around you anymore.” _How the hell did it get to this Damon? Bonnie of all people._

_Because she is all people. _He feels uncharacteristically nauseous.

“What are you saying, Damon?”

_Nothing. Everything. Why do I keep moving closer? _

Her eyes are fixed on his, a determination, he’s always liked that: he should speak again. “You deserve more than how we’ve treated you. And-” He thinks of Elena in the house just behind him, the thrilling pain of loving her; he looks at Bonnie and feels a warmth vampires aren’t supposed to feel anymore, something quietly human, still fluttering. _Terrifying._

Bonnie softens, the fire about her lessens. “I think I know what you mean. It’s…”

“Damon!” He’d been so focussed on the witch he hadn’t registered Elena’s presence on the porch. She rushes forward. “Is everything okay? Bonnie… what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” It’s scary how easily she fakes a smile, “I’ve finished the spell. Damon has the stone.”

“You’re amazing,” Elena tells her and he sees it, he does, the way the light in her eyes goes out at the empty affirmation. “We’ll go and get him now won’t we Damon? Damon?”

“Yeah,” he speaks to Bonnie, “You coming?”

She shakes her head. “I’m pretty exhausted after the spell. You go. Tell Stefan I said hi.”

And again, as she walks away, his brain, damn, even his heart, say _go after her, idiot_, but Elena’s hand has found its way into his and that’s all he’s ever wanted, right?

* * *

Stefan calls her at three in the morning. She answers immediately, thrusting the phone to her ear in a whisper.

“Stefan! Is everything okay?”

“Bonnie, wow, I didn’t think you’d be awake but I just had to try.”

She pulls at the zip of her hoodie, “Yeah I… haven’t really been able to sleep.”

“I heard about what happened with Elijah. That must have been scary.”

Bonnie nods, then remembering she’s on the phone says, “A little but you know, just another day in Mystic Falls.”

He chuckles, “That I do. I, er, I just wanted to say thank you. For the spell… We do appreciate everything you do for us.”

_Ah._ Bonnie fights the eyeroll. “Did Damon put you up to this?”

“What? No. I wanted to say thank you.”

“But the other bit…” she draws a pattern on the covers with her forefinger, “_We do appreciate everything you do for us_.” Stefan stalls. _Busted._ “Tell Damon, it’s cute, but he can do better than getting his younger- AH!”

She drops the phone, the vampire’s tinny, “Bonnie! Are you okay!?” reverberating from her pillow. Damon Salvatore, _the dick_, twinkles his fingers out her window. Bonnie presses against her heart to calm it down and brings the phone back to her ear: “Hi, sorry, I just saw a… cat.”

“A cat?”

“Yeah. It’s three a.m. – I’m delirious,” she glares at Damon through the window, “Sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for calling.”

Hanging up, she marches to the glass and pushes hard on the window, nearly sending him flying off the tree he’s perched on – _good_. “What are you doing here?” She hisses.

“Good evening, Bonnie. What did my brother want?”

She folds her arms, feeling suddenly stupid in her old pink zip-up and Monsters Inc. pyjama pants. “To say thank you. It’s rude to eavesdrop.”

Damon flings her a lazy grin. “Can’t help it,” he flicks his ear, “vamp-hearing.”

There’s a beat; Damon re-adjusts his balance on the branch. “Do you want to come in?”

“Really?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

In a blink he’s standing in front of her, surveying her childhood bedroom with amusement. His stare lingers on her bed. “So, this is where the Bonnie Bennett magic happens,” his mouth curves, “Don’t give me that look – I meant _real_ magic. Your magic.”

_Your magic. _The warmth returns.

“You came to my house at three in the morning just to see my bedroom?”

Damon brings his eyes back to hers. “No,” he says simply, “I came to your house at three in the morning to see you.” He smirks. “We spend one night together and now I can’t get enough.”

Bonnie ignores that. “I’m glad the spell worked... and Katherine?”

“We can deal with her.” A pause stretches and Bonnie looks around the room, catches herself in the mirror, cringes. Damon clears his throat. “I thought about what you said. In the car. About Elena. You asked me why I’m waiting for,” his tongue wets his lip (because she’s back to him again), “And I’ll admit I may have got a _bit _defensive.”

Her pulse is loud. “Shall we sit down?”

Damon glances at the bed, “No… I need to say this standing.” He weaves a hand through his hair, ruffling it up like it was in the motel room. “I’ve been a dick to you.”

Her pulse is loud, louder than her voice even. “Not… _all_ the time.”

“You’re right,” his eyes glint mischief, “Sometimes I was victim.” He reaches for her arm, playfully, yes, but there’s that _shock_ again. The one she’d felt in the motel.

“This is strange,” she says honestly.

“A guy in your bedroom? I’m sure.”

Familiar territory, banter: she relaxes. Almost. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Never. I did say you were addicting.” Bonnie swallows, a little electrified. Damon steps forward, his height distracting, thrilling, _Bonnie_ _stop._ She leans back but he catches her arm, keeps her upright. “I’m usually very impulsive but I can’t do that with you,” his voice is breathy, a murmur, for her, himself, _them_, “As much as I want to.”

And her own breath reaches for him. “Do what?”

Damon pushes his mouth into a smile, she feels the effort, the tension, taut, as he pulls away. “Goodnight, Bon-bon. Can I call you that?” The smile slips into a smirk, teasing, dangerous. “I’m going to call you that.”

The vampire winks and jumps into the night, just like that, ever the dramatic. She falls back onto her bed, heart leaping, a smile too, ridiculously, unfolding across her whole face.

_Bon-bon. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to leave this story here because I have a few other one-shot ideas I’d like to get started on. If people want, I might re-upload as a separate story (flesh it out a bit etc) and continue for a few more chapters but that probably won’t be for a while – university and all lol. 
> 
> Please leave a review. I’ve been feeling a little bit disheartened about writing lately and your comments are really so appreciated. Also, if you would like to support my writing, you’re always welcome to buy me a coffee! There is a link in my tumblr (perpetualimaginings) or just type wavesketcher in on ko-fi.
> 
> Most importantly though, thank you for reading. I’m so grateful for a place to share what I love to do.


	17. Didn't See It Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tentatively re-entering the fanfic world. Haven’t written in a long while so be gentle. Started this story on tumblr and you guys asked for more so here we are. Sending love and peace in this crazy time.

viii. Didn’t See it Coming

_She’d made him feel again. No, differently. Or, maybe just how feeling is... supposed to feel. She’d woken him up; he wanted to run. Avoiding Bonnie Bennett would be easy, if she weren’t always in his house, if she didn’t laugh like that, if her magic didn’t leave such a disorientating mist (power and intrigue and a little danger?). And even then, emptying Bonnie Bennett from his brain would probably involve some minor - major - brain surgery. Or magic... which, _ _fuck_ _, she did so brilliantly. _

_Damon threw the Bourbon down his throat. Defeated. _

_“I’m in love, brother.”_

_ “Again?” Stefan looked mildly amused, yet not surprised. _

_The vampire exhaled. “Apparently not.”_

* * *

The night is quiet. Not silent. There’s a humming to it – in her hands, her soul, the moon. She inhales, magic like salt on her lips… In the exhale, the vampire is there.

“What are you doing, Damon?”

“How did you know it was me?”

She opens her eyes, blinks at the dark-haired figure towering against the sky. “You’re the only one that would disturb me whilst I’m trying to do magic.”

He swings his foot across the gravel, feigning nonchalance, or whatever it is that Damon does when he’s busted. “I didn’t know you were doing magic.”

“Damon,” she pushes up from the ground to stare at him face on, “I literally said, ‘Okay, I’m going to practise a spell.’”

“Didn’t hear you.”

Bonnie waits, brow raised, unimpressed. Something has definitely shifted around him recently. Like he’s… awkward almost. And Damon Salvatore has never been awkward, not once. Arrogant, brash, abrasive, impulsive, sometimes just a straight up homicidal dickhead, but awkward? It looks funny on him. Almost cute. Her frown deepens.

“What do you want?”

His eyes enlarge momentarily, as if opening to catch something invisible to her, and then the corner of his mouth tilts. A smirk.

“I was wondering if you wanted a… chat?”

And that’s when she realises, his eyes have her held too softly, that his hands are pushed into his pant pockets, and the Damon Salvatore smirk is, under moonlight, actually a smile. A _shy_ one.

So, naturally, she bursts out laughing.

“That has got to be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say to me.”

He tilts onto the balls of his feet, affronted. “What? Why?”

“A _chat_? Are you hearing yourself?”

“We chat, don’t we? It’s not weird.”

He actually looks _hurt_. Bonnie closes her eyes, pushes down the laughter, tries to be rational. “Okay, fine, we can chat.”

Damon remains frowning.

“_What_?” she probes. He looks like a petulant child, all bunched up, fighting a cry. “You can’t blame me for being surprised.”

“I thought… We’re… you know…”

“We’re what?”

His fingers find their way into his hair, like this is painful for him. “We’re… cool.”

“Me and you?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course, we’re _cool_, idiot. I’ve been living in your house for the last couple of weeks.”

She thinks that will ease him, but it doesn’t. He looks at her like she’s unfinished – like she, or him, or anyone needs to speak and smooth it all out. What little of the spell remains bubbling on her tongue dissolves. “Are you… okay?”

He brightens, falsely. “Yeah! Good. Excellent. Fabulous.”

“Fabulous?”

Damon clears his throat. Takes a step back. “You know what, maybe you should finish your spell. I… shouldn’t have disturbed you. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. We can… chat if you need to-”

“No, that’s fine.” He smiles again, a borrowed smile. Something he’s taken off a lesser man and tried to fit onto his usually smirking, and _yes_, charming, face. “Have a good night.”

He turns, heading back towards the yellow lit Boarding House, and Bonnie flings her gaze up at the moon, mouthing _what the hell_.

* * *

_What the hell?_

Never, in all his years of interacting with Bonnie Bennett, hell, _women_, has he ever been so socially inept. From the instant she sensed him watching her, he crumbled, caught in the momentum of her building power. It’s a real curse – his realisation – because now she’s not just Bonnie, but _Bonnie_, and being around her is like having a tiny, persistent exclamation point going ping, ping, ping in his chest.

She’d laughed in his face. Sure, it was brilliant, like always, but he’d rather not hear it directed at him… or his poor attempt at whatever the fuck he was attempting. He’s like a school boy with a crush.

Get it together, _vampire._ How many years have you been doing this woman thing? A lot.

_But she’s different. _

Enough with the she’s different! I know she is!

“Damon?”

His brother grins in the doorway, arms folded, a little amused.

“You look perturbed,” he comments, entering the room with an air of superiority Damon usually has the pleasure of wearing.

Damon glares at him. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

Stefan shrugs. “It’s just nice to see you go after someone I haven’t had relations with.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“And… I don’t think Bonnie is going to be an easy win. Which will also be nice to watch.”

Damon flops onto his bed in a groan, dramatic as always, and rightfully so because Stefan is right, Bonnie is going to be a damned uphill battle with no guarantee of a prize.

_Not that she’s an object_.

Shit, she’s changed him.

“What’s your plan then, Mr Romance?”

“Stay in bed forever and accept defeat.”

Stefan laughs. Then lobs a pillow at his head. “Damon. When have you _ever_ accepted defeat?”

He’s right again. Never.

“But this is _Bonnie_. I don’t know what’s happening to me, I can’t even talk to her properly, I’m like…” he flails his arms about, “_awkward_.”

His brother rolls his eyes. “As much as I’d like to see that, you just need to get out your head. You’re right, this _is_ Bonnie. Your best friend – don’t protest, you guys are – and yes, you’ve realised you’re in love with her and that’s _amazing_, so stop stressing and just be yourself.”

“Never thought I’d hear you tell me to be myself,” he mumbles (words now muffled because his face has found itself in his pillow).

“Never thought the situation would call for it.”

“But… I don’t know who I am anymore. She’s made me question it all.”

And Damon _feels _the exasperated exhale. “Just hang out with her. You’ll figure it out - and hopefully she will too.”

Just hang out with her. A simple enough instruction only… hanging out with her is loving her and loving her is proving to be a very stressful experience. Unfortunately, there is no alternative. She exits and he loves her.

_Here we go. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review (and let me know if you’d like more). It’s nice to write something cute and fluffy for once lol - and explore a different kind of Damon.   
P.S: Title taken from the song Didn’t See it Coming by My Brothers and I.


	18. Didn't See it Coming (II)

She’s used to waking up earlier than the Salvatore brothers, savouring the sleepy mornings of utter, and beautiful, normality before the supernatural crashes into her day. In spring, the day starts fresh and crisp – a peeking sun and birdsong to carry, if only for a little while, the pressures of magic and responsibility and… Damon. Hence her surprise, to walk into the kitchen and see the elder vampire sitting at the breakfast table at the ripening time of eight am.

He smiles at her over his coffee cup. Another of his _new_ smiles.

“I thought your morning started in the afternoon?” she quips, pushing for banter, for _them_, because the smile is making her uneasy (and not in an entirely unpleasant way).

Damon laughs; takes her in. She’s in an old Mickey Mouse sweater and Winne the Pooh pyjama pants that have somehow grown with her over the years, and her hair, catching it in the oven reflection, resembles a small shrub. _Here it comes_. The sarcasm. But his smile slips into concern and the moment’s lost. She actually misses the insult.

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Okay, yeah,” she says, walking behind him for a mug.

“Just okay?”

Bonnie flicks the kettle on. “It’s always just okay.”

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

_What the fuck is going on? _

“No,” she says sharply, “I don’t.”

Damon looks terrified. _Good._

Living at the Salvatore’s has consisted of two things: the first being space, lots of it, copious rooms and corridors and corners to throw up a few spells, call Caroline, read, anything. Yet the second, being Damon. Wherever she’d find, he’d be there, all hey Bon-bon, smirk stretching half-way round his face, palm pressed against the book case, Mr Confident. It was what she expected.

_This_, she thinks, pulling away from the vampire’s unnatural hesitancy, is not.

“Maybe you should have slept a bit more then,” he says eventually and it’s pathetic the way her pulse thickens at the promise of a witty exchange.

“I like my morning cup of tea vampire-free.” She hides the smile in her words, pours the boiling water.

But he moves, actually stands, pushes back his chair and shares an apologetic smile. It’s far too timid on the mouth she’s used to seeing pulled upwards, daring her. “Noted. I’ll see you later, Bon… Bonnie.”

_Bonnie. _

He might as well have called her Elena.

* * *

“Idiot,” he hisses, falling into a jog immediately. Their back yard is warming in the spring sunshine and he needs air. And blood. And his confidence back.

_Idiot. You’re being weird. Stop being WEIRD._

It’s like his limbs don’t function normally around her anymore – like everything is heavy or switched around and all he can do is smile at her in this silly way. Even in her kid’s jammies and unbrushed hair, his words dried up and all he wanted to do was make her feel loved. _Fuck. _

_STOP BEING WEIRD. _

Damon pushes his feet harder into the ground, increasing speed. Harder still. The rush of wind feels good, dissolves her a bit.

“Damon.”

He hears his name from her mouth and collides to a stand-still. She’s leaning against the back-door, arms folded.

“Ah good, you can hear me. I’m going into town, if you wanted to come. Or drive.”

_Be cool. Be cool. _

He tries for a nonchalant stroll over to her but he’s jogging before his mind can chastise his legs. Bonnie laughs, her eyes snatching at the light and _for fucks sake, Damon Salvatore. _

“Never seen you so enthusiastic for a town trip.”

“Yeah, I need some new… pants.” He feels her eyes travel to his standard back denim. “Thought I’d try blue. Something different.”

_This isn’t cool. _

“Really?”

“Do you not think so?”

She could tell him to buy yellow leggings right now and he’d probably skip to the store. But she doesn’t, thankfully, she just wrinkles her nose and says, “You suit black.”

It’s a compliment. He’s used to pushing for compliments and the old Damon bites at his tongue with a ‘I’d suit you’ just to make her squirm. The pleasure, however, is lost when it’s what he actually wants– then her disgusted reaction is not amusing, just painful.

“Thank you,” he says instead.

Something flickers across her stare – irritation maybe, only it’s not the fiery spark of frustration he’s used to eliciting. This is more disappointing. “Shall we ask Stefan?”

He wants to say no but he’s failing so miserably at being anything but an awkward mess right now that he just shrugs in a non-committal _sure _and ten minutes later, they’re all in his Camaro heading towards Mystic Falls.

Stefan has taken the backseat, like a true bro, leaving Damon to glance at his passenger – probably a little too often.

A question falls out: “Is that a new dress?”

Bonnie bites her cheek, closing around a smile, he’s sure, and his stomach flips a bit. “Didn’t think you noticed these things.”

“I can’t help it.”

_Well, shit. That was a bit too honest._

“Are you…blush-”

“Stefan?” He interrupts, “Where do you think I should park?”

He can feel Bonnie’s eyes on him, trying to figure him out. _Good luck. I still can’t. _

“You don’t usually care,” his brother quips, a tone not too dissimilar to Bonnie’s, “But any where’s fine. Presuming you actually _pay_ for a parking ticket.”

“When has Damon ever paid for a parking ticket?”

They laugh together so he joins in. A little late, a little hesitant. He’s trying to detect any disappointment in Bonnie’s tone. Does she want him to start paying for parking tickets? Because he can. He will.

_You need to be knocked out, Salvatore. _

They pull up along the curb outside the Grille, Stefan and Bonnie chatting easily about what they want to eat for lunch. Damon exits the car first, speeds to her side and, like an idiot, reaches for the passenger door. She’s pushed it into his hand before even his vamp senses intersect.

“Ouch,” he winces.

“Were you?” she stares at him, shock, amusement, confusion, “Were you going to _open_ the door for me?”

And he understands now, with crushing clarity, that this was all a terrible, terrible idea. Not just trying be chivalrous but all of it – just trying at all. He steps back, laughs, tries not to die inside.

* * *

“Okay, he’s being weird isn’t he. Like it’s just not me? He’s completely different.”

The younger vampire shrugs, reaches for a fry. “He’s Damon. His moods change.”

“_Stefan_,” Bonnie groans, “This isn’t a mood change. A mood change is when he’s drunk too much Bourbon and is grumpy… or flirty. Not _this._”

Stefan shrugs again. “I’m sure he’ll be back to irritating Damon soon enough.” He glances at his brother making his way back to their table and lowers his voice, “Make the most of it.”

“Got you a milkshake,” Damon tells her. It’s big and pink, all squirty cream and sprinkles.

“I didn’t ask for a milkshake.”

His fingers flinch around the glass. “I just thought-”

“You thought wrong,” she says simply, daring him. Damon pulls back his arm. “I like vanilla anyway.”

Something flickers across his face, something hard and sharp, something _him_. She can almost see the tongue curling behind his lips, ready to pounce, and she’s made a little electric in the promise.

“I love strawberry,” Stefan says, offering his hand, and instantly dissolving the tension.

Damon passes him the shake, breaking from her stare. The air’s gone limp – something she never thought she’d feel around Damon Salvatore. Even in the very beginning of death threats and fire, oxygen felt different around him. Like it was harder to breathe… and unsatisfying when she did.

He doesn’t talk much for the rest of lunch, brow furrowed in inner monologue. Again, something she’s used to hearing, not guessing.

“Still surprised we don’t have loyalty cards for this place,” she says, trying for laughter but it’s only Stefan’s light chuckle that carries over the table and Damon’s silence feels physically heavy.

She kicks his leg under the table; he kicks hers back and she grins only-

“Sorry,” he mutters. Apologetic.

Now she wants to kick him in the head.

Bonnie turns to Stefan. “How’s the milkshake?”

“It’s good. A bit rich but-”

“I’m going for a walk,” Damon interrupts, standing from the booth, not looking at either of them. There’s defiance in his words though, a reckless impulsivity that she, all of them, recognise as his. He must too because he reddens suddenly, embarrassed, brings a hand to the base of his neck, plays with the wild strands of hair there: “Sorry, I just… need to clear my head.”

“Good.”

He stares at her – she holds it boldly – then leaves the Grille.

* * *

Bonnie’s silent in the car ride home. It’s his fault, entirely. She’s frustrated, he’s frustrated – she just wants her friend back, and he doesn’t want a friend at all.

_There’s the selfish bastard they all know and love. _

Her hands, curled on her lap, dance, on instinct, to the song he has playing on the stereo. He wonders if she notices she’s doing it.

Damon winds the window down, fighting the ache in his own fingers to tangle themselves in hers. The same breeze he felt this morning empties into the vehicle only this time Bonnie’s scent and pulse are swept up in it.

“I’m going to keep working on that spell,” she says as he opens the front door, “Don’t worry about dinner.”

He lets her go because he should. This is exhausting him. He’ll find a way to stop looking at her like she’s magic, even if it means forcing his facial muscles into indifference. He has to.

Stefan pats his shoulder in condolence. “You know, Damon, this actually isn’t at all entertaining. It’s just painful.”

“How do I stop it all?”

His little brother smiles, suddenly wiser. “You can’t. But you _can_ tell her.”

“She’ll laugh.”

Stefan’s nod feels like a wooden stake. “She might.” He glances up the stairs, to where she just ascended, oblivious and angry, “But this isn’t fair to her.”

_Nothing is fair. _

But, for her, for Bonnie … he might just try.

…

Damon’s on his second blood-bag when she pads downstairs. He’s overwhelmed by the residue of whatever spell she’s been practising before he sees her: she’s still glittering with it when he does.

“Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be-”

“It’s okay,” he stops her, “I’m going upstairs soon.”

She hangs in the silence, green eyes chasing around his face, trying to find something concrete, and as much as he hates he can’t just hold her, he hates more that he can’t be normal. For her.

“How’s the spell going?” he offers.

“It wasn’t easy but… I think I’ve got it now.”

She’s even a couple of metres away and every sense is on overdrive, teasing him. Her purple dressing gown wrapped around her small frame, that delicious magic in her skin, her hair, her words: he’s never wanted anyone more.

And yet, he doesn’t move. He smiles, and she wilts because he can’t seem to do any of this without disappointing her somehow. She makes to cross the room towards the hall then pivots, suddenly ablaze.

“What is _wrong _with you!?”

Everything in him tenses. “What?”

“You know what! _You_! You’re just…” her arms fly towards him, “_Sitting there_. You’re always just sitting there.”

“I don’t-”

“You used to be in my face all the time. Making comments, touching me, being so _annoying_.” She paces around the living room, like a tiny flame, “Even now you’re still sitting there and letting me talk and-” she stops suddenly, facing him, outraged, “What is _wrong_ with you!?”

_You should definitely speak now, idiot. _

“Bonnie, I-”

“And why _Bonnie_ all of sudden!?”

He slams his mouth shut, utterly perplexed and then… _Ah_. He wrestles the grin away from his words, “You miss Bon-bon?” It’s pushing into a smirk rather quickly and he expects her to eye roll or harden her stare but her eyes widen like she’s relieved. Like she can breathe again.

“Maybe,” she says quietly, “And more. I just miss… the banter.”

His mouth dries; something burns and he’s not sure if its within him or the whole of her. He wants to ask what that means. Missing it. Missing it how?

She’s crossed her arms again, irritation scratching away at the hope in her gaze. “Just tell me, Damon. _Talk _to me.”

“I don’t know how to,” he admits, and it’s the most honest he’s been with her in a long time.

“Talk to me or tell me?”

His hands find his hair again. “Both, I guess.”

She moves suddenly, folding her legs under her so she’s sitting crossed legged on the carpet like a school girl. “_Try_.”

So, he looks at her and tries to find the beginning. Separate before from now – loving her and… _Did I ever not? _He feels strangely dizzy, like he hasn’t blood in a while. Bonnie watches from the carpet; does she see all this in his face?

“I don’t know how to be around you anymore,” he tells her, “It’s… it’s honestly a fucking pain in the ass.”

And when she laughs, suddenly, he can’t help but join in. Delight in the ease of what they’ve always done so well.

“What’s changed?” She asks, after the moment.

He thinks about saying _you_ but she hasn’t – she’s still the same Bonnie. He was just a blind idiot. “Me.”

“Well, duh.” And he must have smiled because she says, “Right there! You never used to smile at me like that.”

“What am I smiling like?” It’s a dangerous question.

“Like…” she bites her lip, playing with the words, “Like I’m the only person you see.” _And a dangerous answer. _“Obviously I know I am now, like it’s just me in this room but-”

He stands, cutting her rambling short. Bonnie’s pulse proliferates, and kicks at the place where his should be.

“Why do I feel like you’re going to say you’re in love with me right now?” It’s on that terrifying line between a joke and a stone-cold truth. Bonnie stands too, meeting him, a person sized width apart. “That’s crazy isn’t it?” Her voice loses certainty in his waiting silence, “Isn’t it?”

Her heartbeat is near deafening now, it’s hard to focus. “Yes, it’s crazy.” She’s knotting the tie of her dressing gown around her fingers and that’s all he can see right now, because looking at her would reveal too much. He’d know her answer in those eyes before he even has the chance to say it. “But I’ve always been crazy.”

She stops fiddling with the purple tie and his whole world stills. “For real?”

“The only time it really has been, I think.”

And he looks at her eyes, like a damned gravitational pull, she really is, and has been, the only person he sees. It’s not happiness and it’s not terror and it’s not awe and it’s not shock, but neither is it laughter. Perhaps it’s all of them combined.

Perhaps that’s love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this story and don’t hate me too much for the slightly cliff-hanger ending. The beauty of a one-shot is you can leave these little narratives on a pause but believe me, I want a Bamon happy ending as much as you. Decided to go for an extra-long chapter rather than two more instalments. Not super happy with it but really just wanted to get something uploaded today. Was definitely a strange experience writing Damon like this… Think I still prefer our usual Damon Salvatore: I missed the Bamon banter dearly. 
> 
> Please do continue to review – I so love reading them. You’re also very welcome to request story ideas. It feels good to provide a bit of distraction in this time. 
> 
> If you want to show your support through a coffee, my ko-fi page is wavesketcher. Of course, there is never any pressure to do this. Your readership and comments are so lovely.


	19. Easy

ix. Easy

She’s never seen him like this. Thoughtful. Picking flowers by the stem and lifting them into the sunshine, to his nose, inhaling, thinking, replacing. _Perfectionist._ He buries his palms in his jean pocket, face all scrunched as he envisages the right bouquet to make her smile.

“I’m thinking the pink ones.”

Bonnie glances at the blue hydrangea in her hand. “Yeah, she’ll like pink.”

“But will she _love _it?” He’s looking at her with some far-off intensity, beyond her, through her, maybe she’s just morphed into Elena now. Either way, it’s unsettling so she laughs.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Bon. You’re not allowed to mock me for this, remember?”

But he’s scowling at the flowers again and it’s hard not to smile. She’d been dancing around her kitchen to the _seminal _Take Me Home album when her phone buzzed and ‘Don’t Pick Up It’s Damon’ flashed on her lock-screen. A rather redundant contact name because, nine times out of ten, she does. The message read:

_Meet me in town in twenty mins. Need help planning the perfect date._

**Can’t I finish my solo dance party to One Direction? **

_No. _

_And that’s disgusting. _

Damon shifts his scowl to her. “I can _feel_ you mocking me, witchy.”

She shrugs, stepping forward so she can pluck the stem from his fingers and smell it herself. “I just never imagined you’d be such a romantic.”

The vampire snorts; snatches the flower back. “_Please_. I’m a textbook romantic.”

“I’ve never noticed.”

“That,” he sing-songs, smirking in that very Damon way he does, “is because you’re blind to my charms. A good thing because my heart can only handle one at a time.”

He thumbs another perfect pink something – lifts it from the box to squint at the colour in comparison. “I don’t think anyone would be able to compete with Elena for that, Damon,” Bonnie quips but he doesn’t hear, or ignores her, and is back to waving flowers in front of her face.

“These yes? All pink?”

“Um, maybe throw in another colour? Like a pop.”

Damon’s eyes enlarge. “A _pop_.”

“Here,” she reaches across him, plucks something bright and yellow, and thrusts it into the three-part flower arrangement he has constructed in his hand. “It’s pretty, see.”

He smiles, quick and fluttery. Kinda cute. “Yeah. It’s pretty.”

They shuffle into the shop to queue, Damon’s selected flower types stiff inside his curled fist. “It’s hot today. Do you wanna grab a drink or something after this?”

Bonnie looks up at him. “Can you even get hot?”

“Can I… get hot?” His brow has quirked which means she, naturally, must eye roll.

“Ha. Ha.”

Damon nudges her with his elbow, smirk stretching to its rightful place. “That was a question.”

“You know you’re hot. Stop fishing.”

“You think I’m hot?”

She blushes. _Idiot._ “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about Elena’s opinion.”

“Why would I be concerned?” he smiles at the florist beckoning them forward, “I know Elena knows I’m hot.”

The shop ceiling pulls on her eyes, as with many things the conceited vampire tells her. She watches, amused, as he charms the lady behind the desk. Flirts with her, compliments. She’s easily fifty something and _loving_ it.

“One perfect bouquet of flowers, thanks to Dawn here,” he winks, pivoting to grin at Bonnie all victorious.

“Three hours later. Woo.”

He pushes her arm. “Come on cranky pants, let me buy you an iced latte.”

“You really think I’m that basic,” she retorts, easily fitting under the curve of his arm, raised to hold the door open. _Thoughtful, again._

“You don’t want an iced latte?”

She hesitates on the sidewalk, looks up at him in the heat and sun – behind that ridiculously large and mostly pink bouquet, a silly, easy smile – and sighs. “No, of course, I want an iced latte.”

Damon winks, as flippantly as he did to the florist. “Women. So easy to please.”

Now _she_ pushes his arm. “Asshole.”

“Careful! The flowers.”

“_The flowers_,” she imitates, matching his stride down Main Street. They don’t often hang out just the two of them – very rarely if at all. But… this is nice. “Was this all you wanted help with?” she asks, strangely hoping that he’ll say no.

“It takes more than flowers for a perfect date, witchy.” They stop outside Mystic Meg’s, the little cafetiere on the corner, and he steers her back towards a table in the shade. “Grab a seat. I’ll go get your drink.”

Bonnie watches him stroll through the open doors, then dart back to hand her the bouquet, a grin in his eyes, and all she can think is: he’s so _happy._ Love does that to you – stretches across your heart, your face, your world, until everything is intensified and glittering and nothing is really enough. She almost catches a hum of it watching him. She almost feels something else… something uncomfortable. Bonnie frowns; pushes at it with a smile. Happiness isn’t quantified – there’s plenty for Elena, for Damon, for Caroline, for Stefan, for all of them. And her. It’s a little quiet at the moment, stuck in shadows and memories she cries about in the sleepless hours but it will come.

For now, she thinks, smiling at the vampire strolling back towards her, I will be satisfied with whatever is emanating from Damon’s.

“You owe me $5,” he announces. Bonnie reaches for her purse and Damon slaps her hand. “I’m joking, idiot.”

“You see, this is the paradox I have to try and understand,” she pulls at the straw with her tongue, “You’re nice and buy me a drink and then you call me idiot.”

“I’m a mysterious vamp, Bonniekins,” he says, watching her drink, “Gotta keep you on your toes. Though, you’re pretty short already.”

“_Petite_.”

He laughs. It cuts into the skin around his mouth, his eyes, and she looks back down at her drink, plugs the straw. “Fine. You’re pretty _petite_ already.”

“Pretty and petite,” she teases, smiling as she attempts to play his favourite game.

Damon curves a brow. “You want me to tell you you’re pretty?”

_Shit. He’s better. _“Erm, no, I-”

“You’re very pretty. Pretty annoying and pretty pretty.” He sounds as nonchalant as if he were ordering fries at the Grille. Damon stands, “I’m gonna grab a blood bag from the car. In a bit.”

She mirrors his salute, with a limp, slightly confused wave, his comment flipping about too wildly in her mind.

…

“Is there a reason that this, you know, why this date is so special?” She says awkwardly from behind him. Damon’s taking her on a cross country trek through some woodland, insisting he saw a viewing spot on Pinterest. He’d splayed his palms over the café table, mouth still tinged red with blood, and said “let’s go.”

“Yup,” he throws a grin over his shoulder, “Gonna tell her I love her.”

Bonnie stops walking. “Wait, you haven’t yet?”

“Why are you surprised?” He turns to face her – a twig in his hair that she wants to reach for and untangle.

“It’s just… obvious isn’t it? Like how you are with, or around, someone. Like it’s easy.”

“Like it’s _easy_?”

She stalls, suddenly conscious that she hasn’t been in love - or, at least not an Elena/Damon kind – and her choice of adjective probably sounded very stupid. “You’ve proved you’re such a romantic now, I guess I just expected you to blurt it out straight away,” she says instead.

“Blurt it out. Hmm. Yeah, let’s leave the love declarations to me.”

She shrugs, relieved when he continues striding through the undergrowth towards who knows where. The summer air is hot and sticky but the trees spread their wide limbs, offering shade and dancing shadows. It really is nice, she thinks, hanging out with him.

“Ah,” the vampire halts – she almost collides into his back. “Think I see it.”

“What?”

Damon pushes her in front of him, hands on her shoulders to steer her and _is he always this touchy? _“There. Can you see?”

“The tower thing.”

“That’s it.”

“What is that?”

“A tower thing.” He grins at her eye roll. “Come on, Judgey. You gotta see the potential.”

She bites away the smile at another of his many nicknames for her. “How do we get up there?”

The vampire stretches. “You’re gonna have to hold on tight.”

“Damon.” He smirks, reaching for her. Bonnie steps back. “Damon, _no_-”

He grabs her waist, pulling her frame into his chest, and she’s sure her heartbeat must be entirely consuming for him, because it’s really quite consuming for her, and then everything blurs and all she can feel, smell and see is Damon. And a lot of flying colour.

In a breath she’s released.

_“Damon!”_ His hand is still on her back, steadying her. “You can’t just do that!”

“_Really_? But I just did.” He releases contact to smirk at her, openly enjoying her outrage with glittering eyes.

She inhales, dizzy from the speed in which he carried her, but insisting on continuing to chastise him. It’s what he needs, the asshole. You can’t just go grabbing people and vamp-speeding. Especially not people that aren’t your girlfriend. Bonnie pushes her mouth to form these words aloud when her new surroundings pours into her senses. She’s in the sky: her home town, scattered below, runs away from her… her anger too. Damon’s expression tells her she’s smiling before she can.

“Do you think at night? Up here.”

She steps forward, places her hands on the crumbling wall, dares to look down, then settles on looking out. “At sunset. With wine.”

“_Wine_.”

“I love wine.”

She feels his presence next to her. The quiet awe of their town, so distant, so still. “Does Elena?”

_Elena, Bonnie. Elena. _“Yeah. Everyone loves wine.”

“What’s her favourite?”

She squints at the Virginian forest beyond. “I’m not sure actually.”

“What’s your favourite?”

_“Rosé,” she says instantly. _

_Damon nods. “Easy. I’ll get that then.”_

_They stand in silence for a moment. Looking. Thinking. (And Bonnie’s heart is still beating a bit fast, she’s not sure why). _

_“I think you need fairy lights,” she says, just as Damon says, “I thought you loved white wine.”_

_They laugh, it’s almost awkward. The vampire turns his back on the view to stare at her, arms crossed, leaning casually against the wall. “What the hell are fairy lights?”_

“Little lights. On a wire. They’re magical.”

His cheeks dimple. “Your eyes are lighting up just thinking about them.”

“They just add to the ambiance of a place. You could hang them over the wall and,” she spins, directing her hands like a conductor, “here. You could get loads.”

He watches her, a little dumbfounded. “Don’t they use electricity?”

“You can get battery operated ones.”

“From _where_?”

She frowns. “When is this date?”

“Tonight.”

“_What!?_”

He pushes from the wall, palms connecting with her shoulders again. “Relax, Bon. If you think fire-fly-”

“Fairy-”

“Whatever lights are that important, I’ll drive to the hard ware store now. Buy a shit load.”

She looks up at his amused face, alight with that buzzing love she’d noticed earlier. She feels it in his fingers – her shoulders shiver under them. “Any girl would be very happy with a shit load of fairy-lights.”

“Exactly,” he lifts his hands in triumph, “Women. So easy to please.”

* * *

He tells her she looks beautiful. She smiles. He smiles. They’re all smiles. She asks him where they’re going and he throws her a charming smirk and says, “Somewhere special,” and she doesn’t eyeroll.

Damon parks the Camaro, helps his date out the car. Elena finds his hand in the dark – they’d missed sunset. It was okay. He almost didn’t want to see it without Bonnie there anyway. She was so enamoured with that view.

“Where are you taking me, Mr Mysterious?”

He squeezes her hand. “You’ll see.”

They walk in whispers through the forest and he’s nervous, he is. It has to be perfect. Because she’s perfect and he doesn’t deserve her anyway -

“Damon?”

“Yes?”

“You okay?”

“Very.”

She leans into his side; in her other arm that bouquet. _It really is pink._

“Yellow,” she’d said in surprise, “Bold choice.”

“It’s a pop of colour,” he offered.

Elena drew her slender finger over a rose.

They reach the clearing and he asks if she’ll be carried up there, vamp-speed. Elena giggles, kisses him, lets him pull her close. He breathes: they’re up the tower.

“Wow.”

_Wow indeed, Bon-bon. _The witch was right, the fairy-lights were an excellent idea. Elena sweeps her eyes across the golden space, hovering on the horizon and the town below, before gazing up at Damon in delight. It’s everything he could have hoped.

“Elena, I…”

“Yes?”

He tilts her chin with his fingers, readying to share what’s on his heart. She smiles at him, Elena, his love, she smiles and he wishes it was Bonnie.

He wishes it was Bonnie.

Damon jolts, breaks contact, screws his eyes shut. _What the fuck? _

“Everything okay?” Elena asks him, moving forward, pressing her palm on his chest, the other on his neck and _no, no, no_-

“I just remembered something important,” he rushes.

“I don’t need it-”

“No! This you will.” He smiles, or tries, tells her to wait here, and speeds away, out of earshot, fumbles for his phone.

It rings. Rings off. He tries again. And again.

“Damon what-”

“It’s all wrong.”

“What?”

“The date.”

He feels her pause. “Elena doesn’t like it?”

“_No_,” he pulls a hand through his hair, “She loves it.”

“Yeah, I’m trying to follow but I can’t…”

Damon’s eyes close. “It’s just what you said. About it being… easy.”

“Oh. Yeah, Damon, I don’t really know anything about that-”

He cuts Bonnie off, clarity rising like dangerous wave. “I think you’re right though. It is. Elena,” he glances up at the tower, her silhouette stares out onto the view, “Elena’s not.”

“Damon. This is just fear because you’re about to tell the woman you love that you do love her and-”

“No.”

He thinks about today, the ease of it, with her, Bonnie, in her jeans and sneakers and eye rolls. He thinks of the too pink bouquet and that blue flower she held throughout his musing. How she brushed against his arm when reaching for the yellow; how he made every excuse to touch her after that to test if it felt the same. It was easy to call her pretty, easy to make her laugh, easy to irritate her, easy to show her the only world she’s known from a height only they existed in.

“No? Damon…?”

“I’m going to break up with Elena.”

“Are you crazy!?”

He glances at the silhouette again, pained. _She really does deserve better_. “She’s probably going to hate me so… be on hand to comfort her with Blondie. Feel free to indulge in the name calling. I’m sure dick will be thrown around a lot.”

“Hey,” she says softly, “I’m not going to call you a dick but… is really now the best time. On this grand romantic date?”

No, probably not, but he’s impulsive and notoriously selfish.

“Damon?”

He folds under the way she says his name – like her heart is aches with his. “Yes?”

“I know you care about her. And even though she’s probably going to be very hurt for a while, she’ll understand. Eventually. I… don’t know much about love but I imagine, when it’s right, it’s mutual. So, when it’s not….” She lets the insinuation fall.

He nods, forgetting she can’t see, and, because he’s impulsive and notoriously selfish, adds: “I had the best day with you today, Bon.”

There’s a pause before she replies, embarrassed, he’s sure, “Me too. We should… I mean, maybe not yet but, I’d like to hang out again. More.” Another pause. “Just to mock you, of course.”

“Charming.”

They hang in the silence. He has more to say, and she must feel it. In fact, Damon’s sure Bonnie is thrumming with words too but Elena is waiting for him and it isn’t fair. On any of them: the witch included.

“Okay,” they say at once and laugh again, like they had on the tower.

“Okay,” Bonnie takes control, and good because he’s not sure he’ll leave otherwise, “Go and do your thing.”

He exhales. “Yes.”

“And Damon?”

He stills. “Yes?”

“Don’t be a dick about it.”

He chuckles, a little defeated, a little alive. “No. I’m going to be honest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I do worry you’re all going to hate me for another cliffy ending but I’m having so much fun just dipping into stories. I could be persuaded to do a part two but no promises. Reviews are treasured.   
Sending love, as always.


	20. Crush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!!! I haven’t written any Bamon in sooo long (but have been working on two novels what!?). I’m now a graduate and trying/struggling to figure out life in the mess that has been 2020 eek – hoping you’re all doing okay <3   
This is just little Bamon drabble. I have no plan for it: am just writing and seeing what happens. I will definitely be rusty.

x. Crush

She doesn’t want to go. Even though it’s her best friend’s birthday, even though according to Caroline ‘they all need to let loose and have _fun_’, even though she’s been in her bedroom for days on end, seeing nobody but the cast of Gossip Girl and her dad occasionally, on his way and in and out from work, it takes her vampire friend’s supernatural grip to drag her out of bed.

“I’m just going to bring the mood down.”

“Bonnie Bennett. This is Elena’s birthday. You’re coming.”

But saying no to Caroline takes more effort than she has available so, begrudgingly, she lets the blonde yank at her hair, draw a black wing over her eyelids, and zip her into a dress she hasn’t worn since she was sixteen.

Bonnie doesn’t look in the mirror for long – the face she sees feels borrowed. Even more so when Caroline asks her to smile. Her muscles are tight and sadness tugs on her limbs, seducing her back to bed. It’s easier there, hidden from expectation. The magic beneath her skin has retreated and alone, she has no reason to call for it back.

“You can do this, Bon.”

Caroline squeezes her hand, crushing bone a little, but it’s nice, the contact. A reminder.

* * *

The Boarding House door is open and they stroll right in – well, Caroline does, Bonnie shuffles behind, holding the heels the blonde insisted on in her hand. It’s been a few weeks since she’s stood in the Salvatore living room and she sticks to the edges, the peripheries, watching as Caroline zips about with balloons.

“Bonnie!” Stefan’s smile is warm. “It’s really good to see you.” He hesitates before opening his arms to hug her, as if he’s worried the contact will snap her in half. “How have you been?”

“You know, getting by.”

He’s about to speak again when Damon sweeps in and something in her kickstarts. “Elena needs you,” he says to Stefan, then sweeps right out again. Stefan says something to her she doesn’t hear: all her senses have become a heartbeat.

The first dream happened three weeks ago. It’s not unusual to have strange, unwanted fantasies in dreams but _what the fuck_ was her second thought, not the first. The first was a startling _how do I get back there?_

Describing Damon as a homicidal dickhead would be kind. It wasn’t so long ago her blood was fuelled with such hatred for the vampire that imagining killing him became her happy place. He has always shown little to no interest in wanting to preserve her life but one day, tragically, she looked at his smirk and felt a lone butterfly. It wasn’t much that he did, because he never did much other than nearly ruin their lives, but they’d all been walking back from life threatening situation number seventy-two and Stefan had tripped on his laces. It was a barely perceptible stumble but for a _vampire _to stumble, outrageous, and a snort flew up her throat and into the air. She hadn’t thought anyone had heard it but when she looked around to check, Damon was smirking.

In the sadness (because dying and coming back to life again and again is not the greatest for one’s mental health), engaging with Damon Salvatore in her dreams has become a new type of happy place. One that has followed her into the daylight too. Before now, in his house, with this fleet of angry butterflies, Bonnie saw no harm in indulging: she had become a recluse anyway, retired from her witch duties, and only replying to messages hours, sometimes days, after they’d been sent. Seeing Damon again wasn’t on her agenda and besides, fantasy Damon was just that – fantasy. Actual, living (kinda) Damon Salvatore is a dickhead and one smirk and several dreams can’t change that.

“Bon!” Caroline yelps, “Grab the balloon!”

She bends to catch the white heart drifting by her feet, grateful for an action to interrupt her thoughts.

“Where do you want it?”

Caroline squints at the room. “By the fireplace. No. Wait, yes. The fireplace.”

She’s tying the balloon when a flood of voices crashes into one another and Caroline jumps down from the window sill to greet the first load of guests. Somewhere, music starts and Bonnie clenches her eyes shut in the swelling panic. _Breathe._ _You don’t have to stay for long. Just see Elena and then you can go. _

It feels like walking in slow motion as more and more guests arrive, most of them probably compelled judging by the numbers. Elena is on the first step, chatting away to some friends from school – she sees Bonnie and splits open in a grin.

“There you are!”

Bonnie holds the hug, tells her happy birthday, compliments her outfit, but she feels herself shrinking away from it all, even in a pretty dress and Caroline’s makeup. Because it’s easier there.

“I’ll get you a drink,” Elena says loudly, over the noise of the party.

“No, it’s okay-”

“Don’t be silly. Wait here.”

She tries, she does, but her face is hot and she should never have come. It takes a lot of squeezing between people to reach the emptiness of the hallway, though her exhale is sliced in half.

“Escaping already?” Damon leans in the kitchen door frame, arms folded, brow quirked.

She prays he can’t hear her pulse. “I’m not really in the party mood.”

“Ah, come on, Bon. I think we deserve this. You especially.”

He’s looking at her in a way that makes her very aware of the dress she’s wearing, of herself altogether. Like he’s the mirror she’s been avoiding.

She speaks to her slippers (the heels never made it on). “I… I don’t think I can tonight.”

“But you made an effort.” His gaze snakes down her, lazy but intentional, his unique, frustrating, power. “Maybe not the shoe choice.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” she manages to say, because they’ve never been like this. Or, _she’s_ never been like this – nervous and…electrified.

Damon’s always been charming.

_Fuck. _

“You’ve been very disappointing actually,” he lifts the tumbler to his lips, “I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but I may have even been missing you.”

“I can’t believe that.”

“No? Caroline isn’t nearly as fun to wind up.”

She can’t decide where to look, or where to go. The need to flee bubbles but another movement is now playing across her mind: a forward motion, towards _him_.

Then Elena rushes into the hallway and Damon straightens. _Electrified_, of course, because he probably still loves her. “You’re not going, are you?”

“Erm,” she stumbles because her friend looks sad, pleading.

Damon strides into the middle of them. “Nope. She’s just looking for suitable shoes.”

Satisfied with the answer, Elena grins and flits back into the living room. Damon follows and, her pulse leaps at this, throws Bonnie a wink.

It says, _I dare you_, in a very dangerous language.

She gives in because feeling alive is addictive.

Her shoes are halfway under the couch; she has to push away a few pairs of legs to drag them out. Bonnie fiddles with the strap and when she stands, wobbling from the added height, he is watching her, smirking. Damon raises his glass a little in the air. Her eyes roll without thinking, like a reflex, and it makes him smirk harder, cutting up one side of his face.

Caroline steals her from his stare. “Okay, we are dancing. Now.”

“What?”

“To the song, duh.”

Gripping her hand, the blonde parts the crowd, and though Bonnie can no longer see the vampire, she’s acutely aware that he is still looking at her. She buzzes at that, this stupid crush, revels in it.

And dances.

They entwine hands, like they used to before the Salvatore’s, before all of it, and jump and spin and laugh. She’s shouting along to the lyrics when he feels him.

“Would you look at that,” Damon says from behind her, “she _can_ smile.” In turning to face him, she stumbles. His fingers are around her arm in a breath – one stolen with the contact on her skin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”

“Falling over?”

Damon hums with a laugh but if there was more to say, he keeps it for himself. His fingers, though, remain on her arm and her heart beat flies to that spot, pounding beneath them. _Is he feeling this too? _

Caroline has started to dance with a guy she recognises from English; his friend is trying to catch Bonnie’s eye. She dodges but with Damon, his fingers now brushing up and down her arm, his body shifting to the beat of the music, she cannot. Bonnie looks up; he lifts his hand.

A voice is in her ear: “Can I just say, I think you’re absolutely beautiful.” It’s not Damon’s.

She smiles, probably unconvincingly, at the friend. He’s attractive, maybe, but her skin is still hot from where the vampire was touching her.

“Do you mind?” he says to Damon.

If hesitation flickers in his gaze it evaporates just as quickly as it came. He steps back, “Be my guest. This girl’s magic.”

And there’s that smirk, just for them, a secret, at his joke.

The other man leans for her ear again, says something about how he’s already under her spell, _gross_, but she’s watching the vampire captivate the room. He brushes his hand along every girl’s back, smiles, winks, charms, has them all hostage and takes another tumbler from the table, but as he ascends the staircase, he looks behind him, into _her_ stare, and mouths ‘good luck.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short but being with these characters again felt wonderful. I’ve been writing in first person the last few months so third took a while to get back into – hopefully it was okay, please, please, let me know!   
I know that these times have been tough on all of us, and I’m in no way expecting anything, but if you would like to buy me a coffee, my username is wavesketcher on ko-fi.   
Thank you for your endless support. It fills me with such joy.


End file.
